Distortion of present reality
by QueenTrione
Summary: What he loves, what he hates and what he fears are all intrinsically related. -Chapter 13 is FIMALLY up-along with my sincerest apologies.
1. Prelude

**Distortion of present reality**

Disclaimer: If I owned them, the DVDs would be out by now. I don't own the title either as it was taken from Jean Baudrillard.

Rating: Pg-13 for now.

Genre: Drama. And a rather complicated romance in following chapters (JMP)

Feedback: Yes, please… Please?

Spoilers: Post-IotH

A/N: Just two short warnings: First, this fic doesn't really follow a straight timeline, so if you notice an unexplained change in the action, don't worry, it'll be explained shortly thereafter. Second. The DSA played on this chapter is neither a fake nor an accident. It's completely legitimate, Parker was in full possession of her faculties and Lyle is as surprised as the rest of the world. Again, if you give me a couple of chapters' worth of wait, I'll give you the details.

_This is for Eva, my long lost twin. _

**(Prelude)**

****

_'And he simply trusted your allegiance?. Just like that?'_

As the video played on, two men stared at each other across a darkened cell: one, glaring in barely restrained anger, the other one smirking with something akin to sadistic pleasure.

_'No, but I managed to make him believe our relationship was more than just business'. _

Leaning against the open door, Mr. Lyle was doing nothing to conceal the sheer satisfaction that invaded him at the moment. It was simply too perfect: After six years of incessant pursue the crown jewel of The Centre's projects was finally back in the cage where it belonged, and he, Lyle, was in charge. And though they had been in a similar situation not so many years ago, and the outcome then had been nothing short of disastrous, things were different now. Not only had the lab-rat's return been carefully planned, but when it'd happened, he had been directly appointed by Mr. Raines to take over the project, while Miss Parker was debriefed and cleared by the T-board.

_'So you admit to being intimate with him during your time together'._

The chairman had given him only one order regarding Jarod: don't kill him. Well, he hadn't thought about killing the man. In fact, since his arrival three days ago, this was the first contact the pretender had had with another human being. Deciding it'd be best to know what his sister was up to before he moved in on his prey, Lyle had been quite emphatic about this, putting his charge in solitary confinement until the T-board was done. He had waited, and he had listened and now his patience was paying off.

_'I did what I had to in order to gain credibility'._

At first, he hadn't really bought into his sister's feat. Returning the pretender after all those years of goose chases seemed…incongruent somehow. However, several hours of grueling interrogation later, Lyle was still trying to find a tell-tale crack in his twin's scheme. Parker had answered round after round of questions and had reluctantly but efficiently, yielded quite a bit of information, going from the night in Carthis when the lab-rat had confessed his affections, to the time spent in that fishing cabin before the sweeper teams had stormed in. Although he was sure she'd kept some things to herself, Lyle had to admit her story held well.

Still, there'd been something that Lyle had wanted to ask.

_'And how do we know your loyalties were not compromised during that time?'_

_'You mean besides the fact that wonder-boy is back in the cage and under your custody?' _

If he was to be honest, he'd only asked that to test her reaction. As soon as she'd countered his demand with her own sardonic question, he'd been convinced the matter would be dropped. No one had been more surprised than him when the newest Triumvirate member had raised his voice, wanting a more elaborate answer.

_'Yes'_

_'You may have reasons to doubt my loyalties, I respect that. But believe me when I say, my having mediocre sex with a lab project gone awry is certainly not one of those reasons. Not by a long shot'_.

…Then Raines had piped in…

_'Miss Parker will be examined'_.

_'I don't need anymore examination than this board. Preventive medical measures were taken care of before I engaged in any activities with the pretender'. _

_'Contraception'_

Now he couldn't see it, but Lyle remembered clearly her steely nod.

_'You planned all of this'_

The Zulu hadn't been the only one surprised. Making up believable evidence of the pretender's family past in order to bait him, sneaking around to meet him without the knowledge of the Centre, walking the proverbial extra mile to gain his trust…Lyle for one, hadn't thought she had it in her.

_'Yes'_.

Apparently she did.

His captive looked like acid was pouring into his stomach but Lyle was quite clearly having the time of his life. Gathering the DSA player from its spot on the cot where it'd been staring at the pretender, he gave the other man a mocking nod, and left the room closing the door behind him.

He felt thoroughly rejuvenated. For the first time in a long time, it seemed the Parker legacy would have a future after all.

TBC

A/N2: This is my first foray into Pretender fanfic as a writer. Reviews are most welcome and brutal honesty is encouraged. Flames however will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 1 24 hour calling service

**Distortion of present reality.******

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

A/N. First of all, a million thanks go to everyone who reviewed: **Rem-Cycle**, **StilettoIceAngel**, **Ginger6**, **leochick**, **ranma8962**, **Ann** and **imag1ne**, you guys absolutely rock!  I really, truly appreciate that you took the time to tell me what you thought. Hope this chapter lives up to the expectations…and if it doesn't, please let me know. 

-- Eva, you're my favorite sister. But then, I don't have any others, so just thanks for being there. ;)

Thanks in advance to all who read this.  

_"Bed is an office. What is sex, if not the ultimate business?" – The author. _

__

**Chapter 1.****  24 hour calling service.**

"What?"

"One of these days you're gonna be sorry you didn't say hello".

Parker hadn't been sleeping, true, but she'd been doing a fine job pretending to, right before the irritating ringing had forced her to sit up and reach for her phone. And even though she'd been (almost) expecting the call, the slight chuckling on the other end was doing nothing to alleviate her mood.

"Really, Jarod, and why is that? Are you gonna give the Pope my number?"

"Hey! He's a nice guy, you know?"

Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, she sighed in exasperation. Only Jarod would be wide awake and chirping at this ungodly hour…whatever hour it might be.

She was kind of used to it, by now. At first, she'd thought that the call he'd made at their return from Carthis was going to be the last one, at least for a while. But just a week later, on the day of her father's "official" funeral, he'd called her again to offer his condolences. Soon after that, they'd drifted back to their old late-night calling routine. Except this time the calls came more often and the bitter threats less so. There were no enigmatic clues either, as Jarod had taken up the habit of sending all his packages directly to the Centre. To keep Lyle from feeling left out, or so he'd said. Having little to discuss besides their current situations, most of the time their conversations centered on absurd questions that Parker was sure the pretender knew the answers to, but insisted on asking her any way. He probably called her because he felt lonely, she surmised. He definitely did so at times when she was too tired for her tongue to carry real menace. She didn't mind though: deep down, beneath her tiredness and by-default annoyance, she knew these senseless conversations were one of the few constants in her life, along with Sydney's psycho-babble and Broots endearing spluttering

She'd miss them when they stopped. 

Tonight however, she just craved some quiet. There was a dull sensation lurking in the corners of her brain, announcing the beginnings of a stellar headache. 'And of course, there's always tomorrow', as the thought entered her mind, and Parker started to end the conversation. 

"Jarod, it's late. I have a breakfast meeting with my beloved family early in the morning. Unless you're calling to turn yourself in, goodbye."

"Wait! You have a bonding session with Raines?"

"Tickles you, doesn't it?"

"I have to admit, the concept of Raines bonding with anything besides his oxygen pipe is slightly amusing. Well, that and thoroughly disturbing".

"Is that new-speak for twisted and nauseating?"

"Perhaps… But look at it from the bright side: since is breakfast and not lunch, Lyle's gourmet choices will be limited to the regular basics".

That did it. The disgust produced by the mention of her twin's cannibalistic impulses, officially elevated her pain. Now she felt the urge to snap at her impertinent caller.

"So. Did you need something, Jarod? This is NOT a social call"

'Ah….' 

"Yes?" She prodded impatiently. The lab rat's answer was taking far too long and Parker just wasn't in the mood.

"I'm going away for a while", he said finally, falling silent immediately afterwards. She was about to teach him the meaning of eloquence when clarity reached her muddled mind: She was still chasing him, he was still running from her. The only reason he'd cal to tell her that….

"Is this…about our mothers?" Her impatience was rapidly morphing into anxiousness. For some strange reason, Parker was truly dreading his answer.

"Something like that".

'Something like that. Something like that…' Then a thought struck her.  "Did you…find your mother, Jarod?"

"No. Not yet"   After a beat he continued. "Listen Parker, I'm still looking for our answers, if I find them, be sure I'll let you know".  She was greeted by the dial tone right after that.

Sinking back into her mattress, Parker noticed the void in her stomach that was now keeping her headache company. She knew that she was anxious with foreboding, and she knew wasn't because the pretender might have finally found his mother. It was that voice inside of her; it kept whispering quietly, telling her that the world in which she lived had just fallen of its axis.

Parker shook her head, and took a deep breath trying to shut down her reeling mind.  Turning off her phone, she silently wished Jarod good luck as she pretended to fall sleep once again. 


	3. Chapter 2 Not a stay over party

Disclaimer and such: see prologue.

A/N: Wow. I'm very flattered by the responses this fic has encountered so far. Again, all thanks go to those who took time to review**. ICD, Ginger6, mfkngst, ranma8962, michelle, imag1ne and leochick, **thanks for your patience and confidence. This chapter is for all of you. Once again, I hope it meets expectations. Please, let me know what you think about it.

- Eva, the posting of this chapter is all your fault. Just figured the world should know that. You know, suing lawyers, concerned parents…the works.

And just to make it official, the last chapter went back in time to before Jarod's return to the Centre. Way back in time. You'll see.

**Chapter two**

**Not a stay over party**

_ Patience. A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue.-_ _Ambrose Bierce_

"Miss. Parker?"  The sound of her name made her eyes shoot up and focus on the face of one concerned computer geek. Raising her eyebrows in annoyance, she silently prodded Broots to elaborate.

"I said I've got the keys."  The techie's voice was tentative as he held up his hand showing the three hotel keys cards he'd just recently received.  Snatching one of them without looking, she stormed pass Broots and towards the hotel's exit. Broots didn't follow her: she was raging and probably not safe to be around at the moment. 

Once outside, the cold winter air slowed down her pace and lowered her adrenaline to usual levels. As she crossed the street, the shredded remains of her conscience told her she shouldn't have gone off at Broots like that; she'd probably just caused him yet another work related trauma. Besides, it wasn't the techie's fault that her mood was as dark as a cave lately. No, that was Lyle's fault. And Jarod's, definitely Jarod's.

Reaching her town car, she knocked on one of the rear windows and waited as it lowered enough to reveal Sydney's face.

"Come on, Freud. We're staying".

 "We?"

"Well, boy-wonder reserved two rooms for us. Unless Lyle wants to lodge with you and Broots, I'd say he's not invited"

The psychiatrist nodded slightly and his tinted window went up again. Parker stood back from the car to wait, unconsciously hugging herself as she moved. It was cold, even by New England standards. She was wearing high leather boots, a wool pantsuit with a cashmere turtleneck underneath the jacket, a heavy over coat and leather gloves, and still, she could feel the chilling weather taking hold of her bones. Gazing at the large construction rising in front of her, Parker couldn't help but wonder for the millionth time what game exactly was Jarod playing with her.  It was now the last week of January and she hadn't heard from the pretender since early December (he hadn't even phoned Sydney for the holidays, which had made the older man somewhat uneasy about his protégé).  But despite his disconnection, clues on Jarod's whereabouts kept popping up at the Centre; all of them bogus, much to Lyle's distress…and as Parker knew,  her team's secret entertainment.   

This lead in Massachusetts was the latest they'd received. Jarod had sent them a keycard to a hotel room in Cambridge, where they'd found the mandatory red notebook, a brand new pez dispenser and some sketches of the Boston skyline, of which the bedroom window offered a wonderful view. As soon as they'd entered the room, Parker had struggled to be discreet in her reaction towards their new findings, especially around Lyle:  although the scene was almost a copycat of all the others they'd encountered in the past month, it was obvious to her that the pretender had actually been there, this time. That knowledge had put her even more on edge, sending her wits on vacation. Because if he was back, why hadn't he contacted her? Why was the lab-rat holding out? What had he found? That is, assuming he'd found something….

A passing wind scattered her thoughts as it made her shiver. Holding herself a little tighter, she took a moment to absorb the landscape before her. Bare trees dominated the view, around her, in front of her, down the block flanking the street that ran beside the frozen river.  Far south, she could see a white slit of what would be water in another season along with the far river bank, and farther beyond that, a distorted glimpse of the neighboring city: wood, concrete, glass and smoke, all mingling under a sky that was different shades of gray and blue.  She would have found it all beautiful but the sight was filling her with utter desolation.

Hearing the thud of a car door being shut she pieced her mind together. No use drawing her perceptive colleague's attention, particularly now that Lyle was exiting the hotel and walking straight towards them. 

"Does he know he's not invited?" Parker didn't answer the psychiatrist standing next to her. She was waiting for the sharks to close in. 

"So?" The approaching man started as he crossed the street. "Do we have anything?"

"Same you did." 

"Except I didn't get a room booked to my name in a rather expensive hotel. He was even thoughtful enough to leave instructions regarding the distribution of the rooms, along with the order that the keys were delivered to Mr. Broots, and Mr. Broots alone".

"We already checked the rooms, Lyle. Make your point."

"Well, a paid overnight stay in a pretty hotel. Almost sounds like a Christmas present".

Parker tilted her head slightly to regard her brother under raised eyebrows, as if deciding on which side of his brain was less operational at the moment. "In case you failed to notice, WE paid for this. He took money from one the Centre's account's to amplify his budget". 

Lyle shrugged like that didn't change anything. "Maybe he just thought you'd like it". 

"I'd like it better if he was sitting on that room, being a good little lab-rat for once".

"Yeah. Yes, of course. Besides, it's not like you have talked to him lately. Right, sis?"

"You're the bug guy, Lyle. Why don't you tell us?"

Her growing hostility must have been showing because Sydney chose that moment to butt-in on the conversation. "Jarod hasn't made contact with any of us in the past 5 weeks" He waited a second before continuing. "I do believe we should stay, perhaps we'll find something else in the morning. Jarod's trying to say something, his actions are never random".  

Lyle shook his head unconvinced. "That's your problem Syd. You try too hard to find method in his madness, when, as far as I know, there's just…madness in his method" Parker was about to interrupt but Lyle held up a hand. "Look, if you want to stay here and monkey around trying to unlock the secrets of Jarod's troubled mind, be my guests. I'm going home".

"You are?" Parker was unable to hide her surprise. Her brother seemed…hurried? She looked around and saw his men were already gathering to leave.

"Yeah, this cold is killing my skin"

Glancing at the old man standing beside her, Parker found her thoughts mirrored in his stance: something was definitely up at the Centre, something Lyle was privy to and they weren't. However, knowing with some certainty that it couldn't be related to the missing pretender, she didn't mind shrugging it off. She didn't want to be directly involved in any of Lyle's and Raines's private dealings.  She'd make Broots snoop around the mainframe for her later on, just in case there was something she needed to know. 

"Enjoy your right, then", she finally told her fleeing twin with evident cynicism. "Say hi to daddy".

"Will do", he responded without turning. By the time Sydney and Parker had reached the hotel's entrance, he was already on his way to the airport.

…

The afternoon slipped quietly by the three stranded Centre employees. Right after settling in, Parker had set Broots on the task of finding out what was her family up to. It hadn't taken the techie long to figure out that, Lyle's retreat had had more to do with his inherent ability to piss people off, than with the subject of their hunt. At least so it seemed at first glance: apparently, some missing money from a Triumvirate member's account had magically placed itself in one of Lyle's personal accounts. After being tipped off by an "anonymous source", the Triumvirate had demanded a rational explanation.  Or just threatened the Centre's president outright, it was only a matter of semantics.

The news had amused the trio, who almost immediately reached a consensus on how the money had switched pockets: Jarod. Even Lyle wasn't that stupid. What Sydney and Broots were still pondering after dinner and over dessert was, how had the pretender taken hold of the triumvirate's money in the first place. And what had he done it for.  Parker didn't know, and basically didn't care that much. She had her own set of questions she wanted to ask, and none of them included missing money.

Now, standing in front of her window, watching the twinkling lights of the buildings afar, she didn't have to turn around to know her answers were here.

"Don't you ever knock?"

Jarod didn't respond. He came to stand beside her and gazed out the window for a second before he spoke.

"We need to talk".

Bad news. If her inner sense hadn't been screaming at her, she would have heard the quiet warning in his voice giving him away.


	4. Chapter 3 And so the conversation slips

Disclaimer and such: Check Prelude

A/N. As usual, the first word goes to my reviewers: **ranma8962, Ginger6, pretender-gurl, Bec-Bec, pretender fan, Ann, michelle, imag1ne and leochick**, once again, thanks for taking the time to read and review. I sound like a broken record, but I really appreciate it.

Now the warning: I'm not a pilot and unfortunately I've never been to Morocco so I don't know either the route followed by planes flying there, nor how the authorities keep watch on their coasts. I apologize for any and all mistakes related to my lack of knowledge.

Special mention to my twin and intellectual partner in crime: Thanks.

**Chapter Three**

**And so the conversation slips.**

> _"Poor Ofelia.__ Divided from herself and her fair judgment…"- Hamlet. Act 4, Ac 5.___

"Took you long enough"

"Precautions"

As words were being exchanged, Parker ambled towards the well equipped mini bar. Opening a medium size bottle of Scotch, she filled a glass with the amber liquid and took a sip.

"Hmmm, heard what happened to my poor twit of a brother. Not too bad, genius. Not too bad."

The two people in the room shared similar small smiles and for a split second forgot about the smothering tension that surrounded them. Taking advantage of that moment of respite, Parker moved away from the bar, filled glass in hand, and went to sit by the headboard of the bed, shoving aside a pillow. When she was finally settled, she restarted the conversation.

"So. Are we gonna play twenty questions or are you gonna tell me where the hell you've been".

Hearing her words, Jarod leant his backside against the window and pondered whether he should have just called her instead. As much as he'd like to argue to the contrary, and despite the planning that had gone into making it happen, this whole meeting had been set on impulse. When he'd first found the information, he'd decided he wanted to tell her in person. But here and now, the pretender was seriously considering if a call wouldn't have done the job better.

"Morocco".

"Morocco", Parker repeated. The voices in her head had gone silent and oddly enough, that wasn't helping her anxiousness in the least. "I thought you were looking for you mother".

He nodded. "I…There was a lead on my mother I wanted to follow".

"Did you find her?"

"She was gone before I got to her"

"I'm sorry".

He felt the sympathy that her voice carried and in that instant decided that the trip had been a good choice. With a deep breath he continued.

"I found the lead on my mother when I hacked into the computer of the man the Triumvirate sent to the Centre to revise procedures".

"Bekele?" The Zulu had been in Blue Cove for two weeks, just itching to give someone a T-board. Parker and her team had escaped him only thanks to Jarod's express mail obsession.

"I wanted to know what they were up to, why they'd sent him all the way here."

"Overseeing. With Adama's murder the Triumvirate…"

"I know", he intervened. "I know. However, as I was snooping around his files, I found some unclear information about a search that they, the Triumvirate, had going on; a search that my mother was supposedly putting in danger, so I went to check it out. I wasn't able to catch up to my mother, but the search they were conducting… it was the scrolls, Parker. They were looking for the scrolls. Triumvirate officials were convinced that they should be somewhere along the North-eastern Moroccan coastline. When I arrived five weeks ago, scouts had been deployed along that territory, from Safi to Tarfaya.

"But how did they… " Parker was suddenly very cold. Missing pieces were falling loudly into place. "My father?"

"Your father's body surfaced six miles off the Agadir coast. A coast guard patrol got him out of the water approximately eighteen days after our emergency landing. The Triumvirate must have been on seeking news of him because as soon as the body reached the local morgue, they sent someone there identify and claim him, and then… take care of his remains."

She wanted to laugh. Take care. Dispose…. They'd probably chopped him and fed the pieces to rabid dogs. She didn't laugh, though. Instead, Parker felt like she might cry; shoot something and then cry. It was absurd, she was sure, that she had any feelings regarding the dead body's recovery. It was the body of a man who'd lied to her, who'd played a stellar part in destroying her life, her mother's life; a man she'd spent a lifetime trying to impress, for whose affection she'd gone to hell and bargained with the devil. A despicable man. Her father.

Lost as to how to deal with the latest developments, Parker responded the way she knew best: She raged.

"So you didn't get your mother". She was met with silence, which she took as an invitation to rant on.

"Did you find the scrolls?"

Again silence.

"Well, what _did_ you find besides the death certificate of a long dead man?" Her voice was dangerously low and her tone nothing if not threatening. "Mr. Parker's dead. No kidding, genius. _He jumped out of a plane_. What the hell were you expecting? "

Taking a long gulp of her scotch, Parker tried to focus. Her father was dead. Really dead. No Centre style comebacks this time. Sure there had been a funeral for him after Carthis, but then the coffin had been empty. And though the generally accepted version was that Mr. Parker had indeed left for good, his daughter had held into a very thin thread of hope -or denial. Jarod had just cut that thread unceremoniously and now she felt miserably alone.

"Remind me", the tirade continued after a pause. "Why am I not bringing you in tonight? God knows I should. You drag me up here to the great white north with the sole purpose of delivering old news. A complete waste of my time, not to mention my money, and all because you were too bored with the season and got the urge to put up your own damn show. I do wonder though, are you helping some homeless dog find a purpose while we're here or was this all just for my benefit?

The pretender noted his huntress's unwavering glare and began to assess the situation. Suddenly his back left the window and he directed himself to the mini bar.

"I am talking to you! Are you deaf?".

Jarod didn't heed her. He grabbed the previously opened bottle and after approaching the bed, presented it to her with a silent motion. Surprised by the gesture Parker gave him a look that was equal parts confusion and ire, but since her glass had dried up, she settled on huffing her discontent and snatching the offering from the pretender's hands.

A moment and a long draught of scotch later, Parker's rage had somewhat dwindled allowing some questions to begin gnawing at her. One she couldn't hold any longer.

"Does Raines know?"

"No. They seem to be handling this internally".

Oh, well, Parker figured. At least there was still some drama that her new biological father hadn't had a hand in; she'd probably have to thank him for that later. In an effort to dissolve her bitterness, she raised her eyes to look at the pretender standing next to her bed. At first she was surprised that Jarod's appearance didn't differ much from how she felt. But then she remembered the beginning of their conversation, and his grimness made sense in her head.

"When did you get back?"

Jarod eyed the woman in the bed carefully for a few seconds before quietly next to her and finally answering her question. "Last week. I would have called you earlier, but - "

"Precautions", Parker finished for him and got a nod in return. A beat later she continued. "I'm sorry about your mother, Jarod. But I'm sure you'll find her again. It's probably just a matter of time". At the end of her speech, she extended her hand passing the scotch to her companion. He accepted the gesture but didn't drink.

"I'm sorry about your father" Jarod returned after a while.

"No, you're not….It's fine." It was common knowledge that Mr. Parker and the elusive pretender had never made each other's Christmas's lists, for glaringly obvious reasons.

"I mean it". Parker smiled sadly, knowing that he did, in a way. Letting a few minutes slip by unnoticed, she took a deep breath and switched the subject.

"You know? You still haven't told me what happened to the scrolls? Did they find them?"

"Not by the Triumvirate but they were found. I did some tracking and discovered a trail leading to a not so respectable antique dealer. I actually tried to negotiate with the man, but some other buyer offered twice our agreed price so he sold them off, just as I was on my way to see him".

"Who would have thought that ancient curses were so well liked these days…How much is our future worth?"

"It was sold for a hundred and fifty grand. Anyway, it's probably our good luck that the buyer wasn't some museum man or historian collector. When last I checked, they were still floating around in the black market: nobody is sure of what they are and all the crazy book dealers want them for their collectors, but no one knows where they are at the moment".

Parker couldn't help but chuckle. "Gotta love the irony."

Jarod agreed forlornly. It was ironic: their lives were literally floating around the black market, being sold to the highest bidder. Not much of a change there, he thought. Studying the bottle in his hands, he focused on the dark green-colored glass the way a clairvoyant does on a crystal ball, ignoring the fact that he was being studied in the same manner at the same time. In the tired profile of the man sitting next to her, Parker could see her own frustration, her loneliness, the un-admitted desire of giving up on the world for a while. The pretender turned to face her and in a sudden impulse, she leant forward, forgetting everything she'd ever known about logical thinking. Parker knew it was dangerous and she knew it was wrong, but at the moment she didn't want to give a damn about anything. So she didn't.

The kiss was neither erotic nor innocent. It was rather sensual, an invitation, only long enough not to be mistaken for the wrong intention. In a matter of seconds, their actions grew more demanding, and Jarod couldn't keep his hands from tugging at the silk that covered Parker's body. His overactive mind was racing, yelling at him in tongues that he should stop. Just stop. But he was tired and she was warm, and even if he had to give up his head in the morning, he didn't want to stop right now.

So he didn't.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N2. Theoretically, a dead body takes 10-14 days to resurface from the Thames in the months of November-December but taking into account the ocean water temperature, I decided to give him a bit more time (even if morocco is a bit warmer that time of the year). I'm also counting on the fact that Mr. Parker was killed in the fall and thus got no chance to open his parachute. I mean, considering his age, and the cruise speed and altitude of an intercontinental flight, I think it's a strong possibility. However, I could be absolutely wrong so if there are any pilots/cops/doctors/forensic specialists among you, I'd be more than happy to you're your thoughts. All feedback is welcome. =)


	5. Chapter 4 Through the eyes of the cat

Disclaimer and such: Check Prelude.

A/N: Ok, ladies and gents, here is the fourth. My eternal gratitude goes to **leochick****, ranma8962, winnievbt, Ginger6, ICD and imag1ne**. Thanks for the encouragement. Ice cream pints of your choice to all of you. =)

I also want to say that I adore Miss Parker; she's one of my all-time favorite female characters. However, pure and angelic, she's not. So…yeah.

As always, anything and everything you want to say about it will be absolutely welcomed.

This chapter is for Eva and George, for putting up with my Sunday morning madness.

C**hapter four**

**Through the eyes of the cat.******

_"Try what repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?"  
Hamlet.__ Act 3. Sc 3 l. 65-66_

Blue silk pajamas, that's what she'd been wearing that night. What she'd been thinking, she was still trying to figure out. Trashing around in her bed, Parker's thoughts drifted back to that hotel room in Cambridge and for the umpteenth time, she fought the urge to smack herself. Had she been thinking at all? No, probably not. It was sheer providence, the fact that some huge disaster hadn't snowballed out of it.

'It'. Funny how six nights ago 'it' hadn't seemed so terribly unappealing.

_I was drunk!_

_No, no you weren't._

And she hadn't been. She'd been tired, yes, and definitely out of sorts, but not drunk. Which of course made her actions all the more….

_Real?__ Honest? _

_Stupid!_

Tossing around little bit more, Parker glared at her bedroom ceiling as the battle continued inside her head. Images started swirling behind her eyes making it hard to remain objective on her judgments.

_He didn't put up much of a fight, either._

_No, he didn't_.

She'd started things out; that had been all her, she could take that. However, after she'd kissed him the first time she'd moved back and held his eyes. It had lasted only a few seconds but it had been tangible, so the kiss that had followed had been entirely his fault.

_Not true. You didn't move back. You moved forward_.

_I was tired_.

_Tired, Parker.__ Not dead._

No, not dead. In fact, she'd had plenty of opportunities to end the damn thing. But instead, she'd been the one to straddle his hips while he was still sitting against the headboard. She had undone the buttons of her shirt and tugged his coat and sweatshirt off his body. She'd let him roll her around the bed; allowed him to kiss, nibble, and bite on her skin. She'd scratched, bitten and kissed as well, and then, it had been her who had fallen asleep. Her, not him.

"I was tired", she mumbled out loud as she rolled on her side to glare at a wall. The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears: she had been conscious, and she'd willingly let it happen. That was the truth. She'd slept with him. __

_… Him!_

_The Centre's lab-rat.___

_The genius freak.___

_Jarod.___

_Jarod.___

_I slept with him_. And he left.

_Serves to show…_

Parker had woken up to the sound of rain on the windows, naked and alone in the hotel room. On the nightstand by the bed, a piece of hotel stationery had been waiting for her, with a number scribbled on it in an all too familiar handwriting. A phone number, his cell phone number no doubt. At first, she hadn't had time to linger on her discovery since soon enough knocks had landed on her door, followed by Sydney's voice telling her that he and Broots would be waiting for her by the reception; so she'd just crumpled the paper and flushed it down the toilet. However, as the day had worn on and the clouds in her head had begun to dissipate, so had her ambivalence over the note: Parker was annoyed. Over the course of the years, she'd had quite a few men in her life, many of them passing affairs born out of practical circumstances. But no man had ever managed to make her feel as cheap as Jarod had with that number. Cheap and stupid.

What was she supposed to do with it? Give him a call and ask him out for lunch?__

_Please! What had the rat been thinking?_

_What the hell had you?_

Nothing. She'd been blank and bad things had happened.

_Bad? You enjoyed it_.

No, enjoyment was too big a word. If Parker had to pick an adjective to describe their encounter, needy would be the one she'd go with. Two days ago she'd still had marks that needed coverage, and she knew for sure, she hadn't been the only one.

_So it was intimate…_

Yes, intimate, which didn't always equate to nice. It hadn't been nice.

It'd been…it didn't matter anymore. What did matter was the fact that if anyone ever found out, or even as much as suspected something…Then renewal wing would seem like paradise. For both of them.

_But it didn't -_

_No!_

She'd lose her head, whatever was left of it anyway; he'd lose his, Raines and Lyle would win. Game over.

God! What the hell had she been thinking?

The ringing of her cell phone took her away from her answers, leaving her with the question of what to do next. As she picked up the small device Parker decided it was no longer important what she'd been thinking before, as long as she could focus on her new task: Damage control.

...

Lyle wasn't a hateful man. As a matter of fact, there were only two things he could claim to have such a strong reaction to: being screwed over and Jarod 'the disappearing pretender'; any of the aforementioned, either alone or combined, had the potential to put him on a warpath. For the most part, however, the man formerly known as Bobby Bowman thought of himself as someone both methodical and patient. After all, the process of converting a human body into edible goods was, well, complicated to say the least. And if things went down as he suspected, he was likely to end up with a Centre endorsed permit to show his sister just how complicated that process could be.

As the town car glided over the empty Seaford streets, Lyle tried in vain to relax into his seat. This was a sham, he was at least ninety percent sure of it. The other ten percent, he was saving in case he needed it upon his return to the centre. It's always best to keep one's options open, just in case. Especially in this case.

When Parker had first called him, Lyle had figured she had probably found out about the T-Board and come up with this colorful fireworks show to polish her image and get around it. But there had been no paper trail on request or the subsequent order: he'd worked it all out by phone, personally getting in contact with Bekele in Africa; and though he didn't think bugging his phone line was beyond his sister's capabilities, the fact that she hadn't just made a run for it had him doubting that hypothesis.

But if she didn't know, why had she called him to help her throw the final punch? He wanted Jarod back, and she wanted this chase done; that's what she'd told him over the phone almost two days ago, before explaining the general idea of what was about to go down: apparently she'd been getting the pretender on string for a while, and now that he was secured, she was ready to end the charade. Lyle hadn't really bought it, not only because she hadn't really told him the details, but because it seemed…very un-Parker. In any case, he'd agreed to pitch in, knowing that if she was trying to screw him over somehow, retribution would come in the form of a very unavoidable board that he would be presiding.

Tapping the back of his index finger against the black leather of the door, Lyle allowed himself to consider something: this was the first time they collaborated since that trip to Cambridge six moths ago. If what she had told him was true, had she been playing him back then? Now, that was something he could picture Parker doing, along with sending him bogus clues to get him looking in the wrong direction while she dug around for the treasure chest. It would certainly explain her strange behavior of the past two months or so…the very same absent behavior that Lyle had manipulated before Bekele in order to prove his twin's unfitness to fulfill her role.

It had almost worked, and it still might, if Parker failed to come through with what she'd promised.

Feeling the car hitting a gravel road Lyle unconsciously started to brace himself. Not five minutes later, the car was slowing down. All lights were off but outside his tinted window, Lyle could see the two sweeper teams he'd brought with him falling into position.

'Three, two, one…What's the news doctor?' As soon as his men in black had stormed the place, he opened the car door and let himself out of the car. In the clarity of the summer night, Lyle could observe his surroundings well enough. The place was secluded, away from the town and sufficiently separated from nosy neighbors, but not completely isolated: A perfect location for a clandestine rendezvous; right across the Centre's backyard. When the first sweeper exited through the front door and gave him a nod, Lyle felt that the ten percent of belief he'd been saving could prove to be an excellent thing to hold on to, after all.

Finally he entered the small cabin, and the first thing he noticed was his very pissed sister walking towards him.

"You've been served, now make the call". Not paying attention to his twin, Lyle moved farther into the house, finally reaching the bedroom where his brain dropped rational functions for a second or two. This was it.

"Wait, what's wrong with him?" The pretender was lying on the bed, hands tied and cuffed, ankles shackled, face looking like a massive hangover was going to come and haunt him in the morning.

"The Phenobarbital is wearing off". He raised his eyebrow and Parker continued. "I wanted him out of it, not completely brain dead".

Lyle's surprise was turning into smugness with the speed of sound. "Well, well, well, sis, looks like you've finally nailed the jackpot. Literally".

"Lyle, I've been locked up in here for over forty hours. I don't have the patience for this. Make. The damn. Call "

"As you wish"

Strolling happily outside, he punched a number on his cell phone and as he waited patiently for his recipient to take the call, he felt an invigorating mixture of glee and anticipation.

As far as Lyle was concerned, he was eight years old and this was Christmas morning.

-------

A/N2: Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 5 Living in the land of virtua...

Disclaimer and such: check prelude.

A/N. Wow, first of all thanks to all who reviewed. I had expected a small riot after the last chapter but you were all well, pretty cool about it. (Unless I misinterpreted and you were actually telling me how much I sucked. ). No, seriously. Thanks a lot for telling me you liked the story despite the fact that things were not coming along as expected. It means a lot. =)

I would like to take this chance to remind all readers that the timeline for this fic is not lineal: The action on a chapter doesn't necessarily follow the preceding one, just like the second part of a chapter doesn't necessarily follow the first. It's tricky I know, but if you keep an eye on the references made to passage of time, it clears up. The following chapters will start explaining the more things so I hope you'll hang around.

Also, this chapter comes with a pretty chapter alert. It's a pretty, pretty chapter. Or as pretty as I can make them. Please no tomatoes.

As usual, feedback –either praise or criticism-, is encouraged and very welcomed. [Man, that was one long AN].

**Chapter five**

**Living in the land of virtual reality**

_"The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world"   
– Leonard Cohen. _

The past five months had been without a doubt, the wildest of his life. And considering where he came from, the pretender was sure that was saying a lot. But, in the midst of the dizzying rollercoaster he was riding, he was content; a nice change from the dark gloom that usually plagued him. However, it's popular knowledge that changes bring consequences, and Jarod was well aware that he would have to pay in blood for what he was doing now. He almost knew that for sure, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. Not tonight.

Tonight was literally, their first night together and Jarod refused to waste it worrying away. It had taken a great deal of convincing to get his companion to come along, given that Blue cove was a good two plus hours away and she was the one who would have to drive back there at six in the morning. They'd finally figured out a way though, and so tonight, Jarod was not going to be concerned.

A stirring movement drew his attention towards the body lying beside him on the large bed. As he expected, only a second later Parker sat up disoriented and worried.

"Shiit".

In the clear darkness of the late spring night he could see her bare back, rising and falling in rhythmical motions with decreasing speed, until her breathing had returned to normal. A short moment followed in which she rested her hands on the mattress, felt the cold of the wooden floor on her feet and then fell back into her previously vacated spot, her body still somewhat rigid with unreleased tension. Jarod knew she could feel him staring at her, but Parker only glared at the ceiling as if it had secretly planed her awakening and refused to utter one word. After a few minutes of bravely trying to keep her glare in place, Jarod saw his partner surrender to sleep; finally she was gone and the tension started to seep away form her body. Only then did he allow himself to relax. Balancing his weight on one elbow he turned to study the face of the woman resting next to him, mentally congratulating himself on leaving the curtains drawn.

The cabin they were in wasn't especially big but the bedroom was spacious, with two windows that let in enough light for him to really look at Parker. Although her features had been committed to memory a long time ago, there was something different about seeing her like this, without the gun and the heels and the strategically applied makeup. This was just Parker. Late night Parker, early morning Parker: passionate, controlling, easily annoyed, gentle, warm and more than a little fearful. It was a strange, beautiful sight; a sight he loved, if only because it made him feel almost normal and less alone.

Placing a kiss on the top of her head, the pretender switched his focus from his companion to the ceiling, as he let his head hit his pillow again. Almost immediately, a light weight fell across his chest urging him to be a good pillow and he breathed a smile.

_You're warm. Don't move._

That's what she'd said when she'd snuggled into him the first time they'd risked sleep together. Before that, their encounters had been briefer, and almost emotionally damaging in nature: they'd meet, they'd have sex, they'd leave, and then they would pretend to ignore the subject for a week or two until they met again. Of course, they'd started out on the wrong side of the tracks.

That night in Cambridge neither of them had been thinking. They'd both let their guards down and eased into the moment letting natural instincts direct their actions. They'd also fallen asleep that night, more emotionally exhausted than physically so. However, Jarod had awakened not long afterwards feeling lost between what should be and what was, and without the slightest clue as to what happened next. The only sensible thing he'd conceived at the moment had been to leave, so he'd slipped quietly out of the bed, and leaving her a scribbled cell phone number as a stand-in goodbye, he'd bolted from the room in search of his missing senses.

Parker had obviously found hers because she'd never called.

Six nights passed and the pretender had grown too restless to think straight. The doubt was making him paranoid and the paranoia was turning him psychotic. Were they still playing the same game? He needed to know. He needed to know if she was bowing out of the hunt or she just wanted to chew him alive. Unable to hold out for the answers any longer, he'd risked a call to her cell, and surprisingly it had been far less awkward than he'd imagined it would be.

_I suppose I should thank you; Lyle hasn't tried this number_. Why had he said that? Maybe because fighting with her was so easy. It was familiar, they both needed familiar. Familiar was good.

_I want to talk to you_. Thirty minutes of familiar later, the world had started to spin in the wrong direction.

At the time, it had made sense to him that she wanted to talk to him face to face. He'd been sure his cheeks were likely to meet at least one her hands in a rather forceful way, if nothing else. Besides, he'd told himself, they had to resettle the rules of their interactions and that called for an eye-to-eye. In layman terms, he hadn't been using his brain to think, but only now was he able to recognize that. And only now was he able to see that she hadn't been either, which to tell the truth, amused him quite a bit.

Parker moved against him and settled on a difficult position with her face between his neck and shoulder. After carefully tucking her head under his to keep a neck spasm from haunting her in the morning, Jarod stretched a bit and looked around. Clothes were strewn about the room, his laptop, up and running somewhere in the floor next to the phone line plugs. He was lying on a warm comfortable bed watching the fading moonlight striking the bedroom floor through the window panes and holding an otherwise unattainable woman in his arms. In short, it was great. A stolen kind of great, maybe, but Jarod wasn't about to complain about a gift horse's mouth. Especially considering that his finding a place so close to her had been a stroke of sheer luck, despite the expertise in real estate he'd gained in the past few months.

The empty house where they'd met following Cambridge had been undergoing some work at the time; construction tools and paint buckets wrapped in plastic were still sitting in one of the rooms waiting for the arrival of spring. Electricity and water were operational though- that was one of the useless factoids he'd found out about the property, while he'd been scouting the area surrounding his latest pretend for a suitable meeting place. He'd also learnt that the living room wooden floors needed a coat or two of lacquer, but he'd figured that out in an entirely different manner.

Waiting for Parker that evening had proved a nerve wrecking task for the pretender. On the phone, when he'd called her to give her the where and when, she'd compromised to show up alone and he'd believed her. That, however, had not prevented his mind for reeling in every possible direction. Luckily, as soon as she'd arrived, the reeling had stopped. It had been dark, thought still early in the evening; winter had been making its presence known through a heavy downpour, and Jarod had seen Parker run into the house and shake off her coat ostensibly ignoring his apparent absence. Yet, when he'd tried to sneak up behind her she'd calmly turned around to face him, unreadable expression firmly in place. The following ten minutes had been bizarre, though that was probably a kind description. Parker had silently moved into the living room taking off her wet shoes and padding across the shadowy, empty space. Jarod had followed her and her movements from a safe distance, trying to decipher the right way to do it. Unfortunately, by the time she'd come back to stand before him, he still hadn't known what was 'it' supposed to be. Since his female companion hadn't been of much help in that department, they'd just stared at each other stupidly for a while until gravity and stupidity had come together, pushing the pretender inexorably forward.

Leaning back from the kiss, he'd seen Parker giving him a bewildered look, one that he could have only matched to one of their early years as friends. She hadn't moved, though. Not backwards not forwards, she'd simply remained frozen in her pose. Taking that as a second chance, Jarod had kissed her again, this time getting the response he'd been seeking. It was the wrong one, he'd been aware, for an insane amount of reasons. Still, neither of them had stopped.

They hadn't talked at the house that night; in fact, looking back on it now, the experience bore a remarkable resemblance to an old silent film. Jarod had sat on the cold wooden floor watching Parker as she gathered her clothes and worriedly glanced at her watch: sooner or later her colleagues would be wondering about her and she needed to get back. In the darkness of the borrowed living room he'd seen her standing, heels and hair perfectly in place, eyes staring at him with wavering intensity, and it had only taken him a fleeting second to know that, that was what Miss Parker looked like when she was scared. Five months later he would still not trade that bit of knowledge for anything in the world.

Their late night call routine had resumed the following night, except their conversations were more filled with silences than ever before. None of them had seemed sure of what to say, so they'd danced around the subject of 'them' in favor of the chase and the Centre and the evil ways of Raines. They'd concerted dates for their meetings in a pretty executive manner and since time remained of the essence, their interactions had continued to be short and to the point, so to speak. Such had been their situation for a while, but something had changed somewhere between the warehouse in South Seattle and the motel room outside New York City; most likely her sleep patterns because one afternoon she'd simply fallen asleep, and lulled by the soft breathing and the warmth coming from his side, very tired Jarod had followed suit. They'd started spending more time after that. Too much time perhaps; or maybe it was the changing weather that had turned her into a talkative person.

The pretender wanted to think he'd been rubbing off on her but she'd have had his tongue cut off for even hinting at that.

_Lyle is going to have my head. _

The epiphany had hit Parker just a few weeks ago on an apartment in the Chicago metro area. Jarod had only given her a funny 'you're kidding' look.

_I can't keep him under if he has my head_.

And then he'd been reduced, in the words of his now mock-huntress, to a gaping, stunned, silent-dummy.

He had been shocked. Out of all the things he'd ever rationally expected Parker to say, that had definitely not been one of them. But the fact that she had voice concern about her fate and willingness to do something to prevent it, when just a few months back she'd sounded so utterly resigned, had been all the prodding the pretender had needed. To the ongoing search for his mother and the vanished scrolls, Jarod and Parker had added a list of possible ways to get around the Centre's watch; a quiet way, preferably, at least until they figured what exactly was the place really about. Parker was still hesitant, but all complications considered, a disappearing act was atop of the genius's list and he was already trying to cover all their bases. Namely: Sydney, Broots, Debbie…

That train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a muffle sound coming from the near vicinity of the bed. A new email alert. Trying his best to softly slide from underneath Parker's upper body, Jarod stood to retrieve the computer from its spot on the floor. Unfortunately with his current company, softly was severely overrated.

"Ethan?"

The dark haired woman was half way seated on the mattress, her eyes trained on him under sleep-laden eyelids. With no choice left, the pretender nodded resignedly and walked back to bed, setting the machine on the nightstand so they could read the newest update.

"Hmmm…"

The humming behind him brought Jarod back to the present. The latest developments felt like bad news in disguise even though he couldn't really pin point why. So much for some down time in peace…

"What are you going to tell him?"

That was the million dollar question. Jarod had reestablished contact with Ethan thanks to Parker's intervention: those two had a way of finding each other and parker had shared her contact number, not long after Carthis. At his return from Morocco (and Cambridge), the pretender and his brother had had the opportunity to meet and discuss Jarod's latest failed search. Suddenly and rather out of the blue, Ethan had volunteered to take the search task upon himself. He'd argued he had more mobility since his sister was obviously doing something to prevent Raines from looking for him. Not only that, he seemed enchanted with the idea of playing hunter for once. Besides, the young man had insisted it was something his inner sense was prodding him to do, and he had to listen.

It was the later reason that had made Jarod relent: he had been reluctant to tell his brother of Catherine Parker's revelations, not wanting to lay such a burden on his brother's shoulders. But understanding that whatever Mrs. Parker wanted to pass on to her children would not be hindered by a thirty year long disappearance, the pretender had finally accepted the help he'd been so cheerfully offered. That's how Ethan had ended up in Seville, where he was writing from now: thinking that the best way to track his brother's progenitor was to follow what he could of the scrolls, he'd done just that, except now there was a problem.

"He should follow your mother".

"Hmm?"

"Ethan!" Without waiting for him to snap out of it, Parker all but pushed Jarod out of the way and came to sit before the computer keyboard.

"What are you doing?"

"A port-de-bras, Jarod. What the hell does it look like?"

"Answering _my_ email. Why?"

"He's _my_ brother, and he should stay on your mother's trail".

"Because your inner sense says so?"

"His does. And so did my mother's. Besides …- He should keep looking for your mother. We can keep tracking the scrolls from here. Is not like we know where they are anyway"

She was right. That was the best solution to the matter of the diverging trails, and had he been granted more time at the computer, he would have typed down just that. However, there was something in her response that didn't quite make sense. Maybe it was her tone, or the pause she'd taken before answering, or the way she'd cut herself off in the middle of her speech… Jarod scooted toward the vacant side of the bed and laid back down keeping his eyes on trained on the back of his typing companion, until her posture told him what he needed to know.

'_… your inner sense says so?'_ She'd flinched. She'd flinched and now she was sitting like on the edge of something hot.

He waited until she was done before speaking up again.

"I love you"

Parker's head swiveled in an extremely rapid movement that made Jarod grimace. Her neck would hurt in the morning, after all.

AN2. I have to say I did not go insane on my own. Therefore, I've decided to start placing the blame of the way I write where it belongs. This chapter lays on the shoulders of George Orwell, T.S. Eliot, Adrian Lynne, Louis Malle, Josephine Hart, Juliette Binoche and Jeremy Irons, my brother, my sister and my friend Carlos. I sincerely thank them all.


	7. Chapter 6 Smashing pumpkins is a danger...

Disclaimer and such: check prelude.

AN: **leochick, ranma8962, Annette, Ginger6, imag1ne and Jerseyno1**, you people rock. You truly do. Thanks a bunch for sticking with this story and sharing your thoughts on it with me.

Everyone else who might be reading, thanks for reading. =)

What I must say this time. First: I love Lyle. No, okay, don't shoot. Like I said before, I love Miss P and Jarod of course, plus I'm a shipper. However, I have to confess, I enjoy writing Lyle far more than it's probably advisable. Second: as much as I love writing Lyle, this was the chapter that would not be finished so instead of guilt, thanks go to Shakira for singing Poem to a horse. It's a Lyle thing, please don't ask. Third: the title of chapter fourth is taken form T.S. Eliot and the title of chapter five is taken from the Rusted Root song 'Virtual Reality'. I just had to give those credits.

Ok that's it, on with the show.

**Chapter six **

**Smashing pumpkins is a dangerous pass time.**

_"I will show you fear in a handful of dust"_

_-The wasteland. T. S. Eliot._

Lyle had always coveted that office. It was large, well furnished, tastefully decorated…it was a chairman's office. People liked to think that it wasn't the office that made the man, but when it came to the Centre, it certainly wasn't the man that made the office. Proof of it was the fact that despite the 'rotation of power' that the organization had experienced several months ago, the room still looked pretty much the same as it had before. Only the few pictures that had once belonged to Mr. Parker were now gone, but aside from that, nothing else had changed. Voices leaked through the closed door and Lyle was reminded of the reason why he was sitting there. The chairman wanted to see him. Raines wanted to see him. Raines.

To say that Raines was the devil was doing the mythical beast a disservice. The man was, Lyle was sure, the most despicable creature that had ever existed. And he counted himself on that list, along with that freakhead Alex and his own namesake bastard of a foster father. The thing was that Raines had the power to frighten the people he couldn't otherwise convince, which made for a hell of a skill in the kind of business they ran. Lyle was pondering if perhaps the trait was hereditary when the sound of a closing door followed by a familiar squeaking interrupted his musings.

"Well…"Started a wheezy voice as its owner slid behind the large desk. "As we assumed it would happen, they want him as soon as possible".

"Are we going to hand him over?"

"Of course, we can't afford to upset the Triumvirate right now".

Lyle was well aware of this, but he was also well aware of the way his biological father had savored the words, like they were a fine wine. Focusing on the small oxygen tank that stood beside his father's chair, he set his expression in an impassive gesture as he tried to come up with something, anything really, because nothing was making sense anymore.

"You seem, displeased".

His impassiveness was obviously not what it used to be. "Parker will not be happy"

The older man across from him almost laughed, an expression that warned Lyle of the upcoming shift in the conversation.

"Tell me Mr. Lyle, are you sure you are on the right side?"

Lyle didn't even have to try the innocent look.

"If you believe that perhaps your purposes might be better served working directly for our African overseers, then I strongly suggest you take the time you have to arrange for a seat on the transport they will be sending soon to pick up Jarod", or else…Raines hadn't said the words, but he had heard them nonetheless and knew their meaning well. Eying the balding man before him with suspicion, the younger executive quickly pondered his options: Raines had something coming, that was already an established fact; but what was important was that the man usually got what he wanted, which couldn't really be said about his African counterparts.

His decision made, Lyle leaned back and grinning slightly prepared himself of whatever was coming his way.

"What do you have in mind?"

Raines seemed to have been waiting for that answer because he didn't miss a beat. "We'll let them take Jarod, but not before we perform a series of test…gather some samples".

Tests and samples…Lyle's world was finally turning right. "How much time do we have?"

"A week. A transport was to come in three days but I convinced Bekele that his pretender was recovering after a long interrogatory. I'm sure his ailments can be…arranged?"

Lyle looked thoughtful and nodded all the while trying to mask his inner joy: even in the middle of this unexpected and potentially suicidal meeting, good news were still good news.

"Good". Then Raines sat back on his high seat effectively killing Lyle's improving mood: the older man looked so thoroughly pleased with himself that it was nearly impossible not to squirm at the sight. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the chairman restarted the conversation.

"You want to know how I plan to get the pretender back".

Lyle shrugged unsurprised, resigned as he was to have his mind read for the time being. "The thought occurred to me"

"I don't" the older man stated simply. "Jarod has been an excruciating pain for the past six years and perhaps even longer. Having him gone is the best solution to many of our problems".

"I see" He didn't have a clue, but bluffing was a notch above helplessness in his personal scale. Bluffing, unfortunately, can only take you so far sometimes.

"No, you don't". Raines dismissed the lie attempt and went on unfazed, making his son wonder yet again what the hell was going on. "But it doesn't matter. What you need to see is that the Triumvirate believes that Jarod is the key to everything, which is of course, true".

"But…" he played along.

"All keys are replaceable".

In that instant, the Gemini project took on a whole new meaning for Lyle, who suddenly wasn't feeling quite as clueless anymore.

"Mr. Parker", Raines continued rather musing than commenting, "was always reluctant to accept the possibility, and although I tried to convince him that the need for the pretender was barely a matter of interpretation, his want to get Jarod caught and returned went beyond logical reason".

Although the puzzle was taking form, the younger man settled for the safety of his thoughtful look accompanied by a slight nod. He might not be clueless but he was still terribly uninformed, and the more he could get out of his interlocutor, the better. His silent approach seemed to work because the chairman decided to grace him with another fragment of speech.

"As you have no doubt deduced, I don't share my brother's obsession. The stakes are too high to leave everything pending on the reeducation of a man who will gladly die before cooperating. There are more important things to focus our attention on right now… that is, if you truly plan on staying within the bosom of your family…"

There it was again, that ever-present unspoken threat; Lyle, who had enough self preservation instincts to make it on the wild regions of the Congo, didn't skip a beat before replying with a polite but believable 'of course'.

"Excellent" was the answer he got from his mentor, who was probably expecting nothing less. "Get in touch with Dr. Marks from the synthesis labs; he knows exactly what needs to be done. And please don't put off your…questioning of the pretender too long: he must be fully recovered one week from now. That's the deal we've cut."

Having finished imparting instructions, Raines lowered his eyes focusing on some papers on his desk. Lyle figured this was a good time to show himself out and slid quietly out of his chair. He was halfway to the door when the sound of his name being called broke his stride and made him turn.

"Mr. Lyle. Do you remember the Darwin project? He wanted to think it was just paranoia that was making the alarm bells in his head go off, but the nonchalant tone of the question was making it hard to pretend.

"The Centre's genetic engineering initiative... It was in the very early stages when Jarod blew it up along with the Donoterese facility and most of our Genome research.

"It was?"

The chairman had yet to look up form his desk and Lyle knew for sure he was definitely not being paranoid. Maybe he had that so called sixth sense, after all. Mentally shaking his head the younger man left the room. Many things could be said about Raines, but the bastard was most definitely a worthy adversary.

…

Right after setting foot outside the chairman's office, Lyle's mind had began to spun the facts it'd been recently fed. First was the news that the pretender was leaving for Africa, which didn't really constitute a revelation as that was meant to happen sooner of later. However, that Raines was willingly giving up his prize was motive enough for concern. The balding ghoul had gone as far as to admit that Jarod was replaceable; replaceable, but necessary if his insistence of having the genius in one piece was any indication. Also, the replaceable part was probably a new development since just three months ago, the chairman had been more than intent on catching the pretender…or maybe… Reaching his destination, Lyle put his train of thought on pause so he properly address his new recruit.

"Broots! Did you get my DSA"

"Yes, sir". It still amazed Lyle what the treacherous actions of a person could do to blindly devoted coworkers. Three days ago, after returning to the centre with his twin and the shackled pretender in tow, Lyle had taken upon himself to relaying the basic facts surrounding the pretender's capture. As he'd told his tale to the shrink and the technician who had gathered in his office, Lyle had seen disbelief, followed by the deep disappointment hiding behind the stunned looks the two men had worn. Not that he could blame them, he had been (and still was), stunned too. But he'd found a certain beauty in the submission he'd encountered in the two former hunters after revealing the extent of Miss Parker's ... commitment: he'd sent Sydney to sulk in his office and put Broots to work under his command. Neither man had offered resistance at all.

Too bad for Parker, Lyle figured: the babbling moron was really good help when he wasn't interfering. And he did have a way of finding lost data on the Centre's mainframe. Fingering the DSA of the recent T-Board meeting, Lyle considered his next move.

"I want you to find something else. I need you to scan the mainframe for any information available on project Darwin. I want anything and everything: memos, reports, mentions in non-related documents as well as a complete list of all directly and indirectly involved. And Broots, I want it now". Not waiting for a response from the techie, the Lyle turned on his heel and returned the way he'd come.

First he needed to see the pretender, rattle him a little. Then he could get back to Broots and the useless information the geek was digging up for him. If his suppositions were right, there was nothing to be found in the mainframe, or anywhere else for that matter, that could put the old DNA recombination project in a new light. The way Raines had asked about his knowledge of it…it was a test. There was something he was supposed to be aware of but wasn't, at least not yet. Stopping by his office to get the DSA player he needed, he tried to keep putting the pieces together.

He knew something had happened in the past three months. Probably had been happening for a while, if he matched Raines statement that Mr. Parker knew Jarod was not a necessity. But it was in the past three months that the situation had been redefined. At least The Centre's situation. The Triumvirate was obviously still caught up in getting the pretender back. Which brought him back to the pretender being necessary for the Centre, but not irreplaceable in the grand scheme of thing…And that brought him to the scrolls and the annoying reminder that he still didn't know what was written in the accursed things.

Rubbing his ungloved hand forcefully against his face, Lyle tried not to become exasperated. He was thinking in circles and the same blanks remained in the equation. And yet, his gut was telling him the key to everything was standing right before his eyes, he had only to step back and look at the situation from another angle.

As he made his way through the now scarcely populated hallways and towards the elevators, Lyle cheered up: this upcoming meeting with his charge was going to be the highlight of his day. Unless, of course, he managed to pick up a new girl on the way home… a warm bed and a new culinary project were just what he needed to put the stress aside for the night.

AN2: _To my sister for being so silly. To my brother for being so cool. _


	8. Chapter 7 The Egyptian fluvial system

Disclaimer and such: Check prelude.

AN. Oh, so we're all Lyle lovers, then. Good, I'm glad to be in such good company. =D **Ranma8962, imag1ne **and** Ginger6**, this chapter is for you. Thanks for never failing to review this story; it means a lot that you take the time. **Lisa Brown**, I hope you're still on board for this one and thanks for reading. **Jerseyno12002**, I'm glad you're enjoying this. **Rem****-Cycle,** is nice to hear from you again, thanks.

If I may say so, this is one of my favorite chapters, not only because is the first one that I wrote, but because this whole fic spawned from one of the scenes depicted in here. Blame falls solely on Nelly Furtado's shoulders because I was listening to her song _Try _when I started concocting this stuff. Oh, and I hope you've been paying attention 'cause this chapter starts exactly where another one left off.

As always, thanks for reading.

**Chapter seven**

**The Egyptian fluvial system.**

_"The mouth may lie, alright, but the face it makes nonetheless tells the truth." _

_- Friedrich Nietzsche_.

"I love you"

"Don't. Say that". She nearly leaped from the bed as she spoke, giving the annoyance that colored her voice an almost violent physical expression. He ignored her reaction and carried on with his point.

"Why not, you know it's true".

"Jarod…" Her voice and glare reached him from next to the window. The warning in both was unmistakable.

"You don't have to return the sentiment Parker. I just figured I'd say it out loud"

"Don't. I don't want to hear it".

Parker moved quickly in the darkness, dressing as she gathered clothes, never sparing a glance at the man stretched dejectedly across the bed. She knew his eyes were following her every move and it only heightened her annoyance, making her jumpy and cranky. Why did he have to do this? Every time things were starting to appease, he had to turn around and throw her off kilter. But then, who was she kidding? The moment she'd started doing the pretender her whole universe had fallen off balance, if it ever had any. This was fun, in a terribly twisted way, but that was pretty much it. Unless she'd missed a memo, she was still chasing him, he was still running and for some insane reason, they were fucking in the interludes. She wanted to turn and tell him that, but the clasp of her bra wasn't cooperating.

Underwear and skirt already in place she tried to focus on the task of buttoning her blouse but somehow lost her grip. Finally locking eyes with the pretender, she raised her eyebrows in an unspoken request for speech that he refused to acknowledge. Jarod simply stared at her, as if her face held some ancient secret code that would answer all of his questions present and past. He looked lost, tired and aged, the latter a concept difficult to associate with the often childlike pretender. Lowering her head Parker realized her hands had never started moving and she was just standing there, observing him intently with the front of her silk blouse hanging open.

Something made her walk up to the bed. Something that wasn't powerful enough to convert her hard expression into something less hostile, but that pushed her into movement, nonetheless. Jarod had abandoned his previous position and was now sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, eyes glued to her face with an unwavering studious look. Not wanting to back down, Parker advanced on him until her knees almost touched the sheet covering the mattress, and he had to tilt up his head to continue his stare.

"I don't want to hear it". It was impossible to escape the finality of her tone and Jarod knew this were her terms: either he took them or he was out. Brushing the silk of her blouse aside to set his hands on her hips and his lips on her stomach, the pretender figured there wasn't much of decision to make, so he tugged at her waist and continued to kiss her torso until her knees sank into the mattress. Soon, he could feel the familiar clawing running from the back of his neck toward the end of his shoulder and a set of lips gliding down the side of his jaw. As he found himself trapped between her body and the bed, the thought assaulted the pretender that they needed healthier ways to communicate with each other.

Parker wasn't paying attention to that kind of thing: it was still too early and she had yet some time left before she had to hop in her car and drive back to Blue Cove. She was once again getting rid of her bra when she managed to steal a glance at the window and saw the clear darkness of the fading moonlight outside. Yes, it was still too early.

…

The warm breeze of the summer night had been a stark but welcome contrast to the dry, carefully conditioned environment of her office. The Centre was a vacuum, Parker figured, and being in that building was like standing inside a sealed bag full of dust and stale air. She grimaced at her own analogy and tried to chase the grayness away form her thoughts, all to no avail. Sitting alone in her car under the happy glare of the Centre's night reflectors, Parker couldn't pretend that she felt like the dead: over the course of the past three days, sleep had completely eluded her, food had not agreed with her, and the effectiveness of her caffeine supply had shown a dramatic fall into the negative figures. To make matters worse, that T-board she had been submitted to had lasted for hours, and she had been forced to answer the same questions over and over until her inquisitors had reached satisfaction. Using the steering wheel for support, she relaxed for a second. At least it was over now and Jarod was officially no longer any of her business. Not only that, but after having her feats recognized by Triumvirate officials, Parker had become something of a celebrity. Even Bekele had been pleased with her performance and offered her a job; one that was, according to him, better suited for her strength and dedication. It had taken her every remaining ounce of will power not to snort in the face of the pompous Zulu, but she had managed quite nicely. Sydney would have been proud.

_Sydney__. _

Sydney and Broots had been absent from her life for a week now. The last time she'd seen them, the psychiatrist had his nose glued to one of Jarod's red notebooks, the technician was going home to his daughter Debbie, and she was leaving to meet Jarod in the cabin near Seaford. When she'd returned with a still-drugged and shackled Jarod, She had seen Lyle walking towards Broots right before she was dragged away to the chairman's office. Later she'd found out her brother had made the techie bring Sydney and wait for him in his office, where he proceeded to give them to run-down of the new state of affairs at the Centre. Three days ago, Lyle hadn't known all the details but Parker was sure he'd filled all the blanks with his extensive imagination, heightening the gravity of her actions as much as he possibly could. Now Sydney wanted nothing else to do with her and in fact had had no qualms in saying it to her face. Broots on the other hand, had opted for avoiding her like she was Raines which meant she hadn't seen the techie once in the past three days. It was the quintessential Parker irony, that much was for sure: after all these years playing wicked witch to Jarod's Dorothy she was finally getting the treatment that came with the territory, and this time she hadn't even inflicted pain on the pretender… Not really… Not like that.

_It doesn't matter. Lyle will do the job. _

She shook her head to dismiss the thought and with another deep breath let herself hit the backrest of her seat. If she kept going down the same road her ulcer was going to wake up and pull a number, and she was already feeling too damn tired…If she could just catch a nap… No. She rubbed her face and straightened up, putting away the dangerous idea. First of all, falling asleep within the confines of the centre was neither healthy nor wise. A lot could be inferred from an employee's sleeping patterns (especially if it was the new employee of the month), and the last thing she needed at the moment was Raines or Lyle trying to mind her business. And second, there was still far too much to be done.

_Oh, well_, _no rest for the wicked._

Parker started her car and drove away following the same roads she did when she went home every other night. As soon as she was sure that the Centre's sweepers were not bringing up her rear, she picked up her other cell phone and punched the second number on its speed dial. After a few tones, a familiar male voice picked up on the other end of the line.

"Hey, it's me…It's done, I just got cleared. I ah, should be able to travel within the next three days, so we're still on schedule… No, it was, perfect. Even Raines was helpful, how about that? ... No, but he's definitely up to something…Guess you're right. …Hmmm? .... Yeah, I just…I'm kinda tired. That board took forever. Listen, I should get going: My place is probably crawling with bugs and I'm almost there already….I'm fine and we're still on schedule. I'll talk to you in three days, alright? … I do. But if you need anything before then…Right. Ok, here I am…Thanks…You too. "

After turning off the ignition, Parker put the cell phone back in the bottom of her purse and steeped out of the car, already visualizing where her brother had planted the bugs this time. A memory from a forgotten conversation resurfaced and she found herself unable to withhold the snort that escaped her mouth.

_Of all the sims in the world, I get to sim a sociopath. _

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AN2: Eva, I know I get lost, but you're still my sister. ;-)


	9. Interlude

Disclaimer and such: check prelude.

AN: **ranma8962** and **SezZie**, I'm glad you liked it. **Mariel4000,** I was confused by the laughter, but I hope it means you enjoyed the chapter.

No warnings on this one. This is pure fluff. Lyle fluff, that is.

Thanks for reading.

**(Interlude)**

Lyle stared at the open laptop and drummed his only thumb against the hard surface of the kitchen counter. Last night before leaving the office, he'd stopped by Broots' s desk to make it clear for the nerd that when he'd said 'now' earlier on, he'd actually meant 'two hours ago', so the information he'd asked for was already far behind its delivery deadline. It had worked and that same night the techie had sent him a massive email that contained all the gathered information available on project Darwin, divided into yearly reviews. Very good for Broots, Lyle thought, but very bad for him: there wasn't a single useful fact for Lyle and his puzzle among the memos, letters and money tracks found. Furthermore, the whole project seemed to be the epitome of transparency by Centre standards. Even the memos that alluded "dismissal" of personnel had been done by the book. There was nothing…. And yet, there was something, Lyle could feel it.

Taking another sip of his orange juice he set the glass down next to the running computer. Whatever it was he was looking for, had no direct relationship with the project, or at least he didn't think so. No, he persisted. Whatever crumbs Raines had left un-swept were somewhere around the periphery, waiting to be discovered with a magnifying glass the size of . …

"Wait"

With a few keystrokes he brought up the file that contained the information for 1999. There was an email; a notice dated May 2, 1999 stating that a Dr. Evan Gaarder, an OB/Gyn with a background in private genetics research programs, was joining the project to take a spot from a man less qualified. Lyle couldn't help his amusement as he stared at the electronic text: the name of the "replaced" man was Marks. Dr. Phillip Marks.

_"Get in touch with Dr. Marks from the synthesis labs". _Raines, the bastard_.___

Lyle hadn't contacted Dr. Marks right away as he had been told. Last night he'd been too busy with Jarod and Broots, and it had seemed to him that talking shop with the doctor could wait until the next day. Only now did he realize the error of his ways: daddy chairman had given him the missing piece he'd been looking for right from the beginning. The synthesis labs were meant for the research and development of biological agents. It was a place for biologist, biochemists, immunologists… and why not, genetics experts. But an obstetrician, no matter what his background, was simply out of place there. That had been the glaringly obvious clue staring at his face all this time.

Leaning against his spotless sink, Lyle crossed his arms and concentrated in making this new piece fit into his complicated puzzle. He knew this project that he had been embarked on was not about cloning Jarod. Despite the clues that the chairman had dropped regarding the replaceable nature of the pretender, Marks hadn't been kept alive all this time just so he could work on the remake of the Gemini project. Besides, the memo said Dr. Gaarder had been given Marks's job almost a month before the first clone was taken, so the timing ruled that one out. There was something else going on here, a sort of pet project that Raines was obviously carrying out without the knowledge of the triumvirate. Taking the dates into account, whatever was going on had begun around three years ago, back when the M. Parker was in charge of the Centre and …

_Oh, my._

A bright smile appeared across Lyle's face suddenly brightening his day. All the pieces were falling together and finally showing him a picture. Granted, it was not a happy picture, or a clear one even, but it certainly was worth a thousand words, especially if he was right in his suspicions. And according to that probably inherited gut feeling he had recently learnt to trust, he was, which only heightened his satisfaction. He had all the good genes, no doubt about that.

Glancing distractedly at his watch he realized it was past the time to head out for work. In other words: S_howtime_.

While he waited for his system to shut down, the Centre executive finished his juice and grabbed a banana for the car ride. He was putting away the washed glass when his eyes fell on his kitchen knives which made the events of the night before rush back into his mind. It was a shame really, but he was going to have to put that plan on hold for the time being. First he needed to see what else he could find on Raines's scheme, and of course, there was also Jarod to take care of. Only when that was done would he be able to return to that Chinese restaurant and get that deliciously leggy hostess to come visit for a while. Picking up his laptop, Lyle decided he was adding his nutritional unbalances to the pretender's list of sins.

At least he knew there were still some leftovers hiding in his fridge.


	10. Chapter 8 Always listen to the fortune ...

**Rem**** Cycle**, love to hear your ramblings. **Leochick**, thanks and I hope your computer is behaving now. **Ranma8962**, heeh, I don't know. I just have the feeling that when Lyle chooses his companions he takes into account their, ah, culinary potential. **Pretender-gurl**, nice to hear from you again. **mariel4000**, good to see you're enjoying the ride. **imag1ne**, I take the sneaky part as a compliment ;-) **All of you people**, you rock!

Warning: Herein answers lie! (Some of them anyway).

As always thanks for reading

**Chapter eight**

**Always listen to the fortune cookie.**

_"Beware what you wish for…."_

He hurt all over. That was the first thing Jarod noticed upon his return to the waking world. Blinking around the pretender also noticed that he was lying on the floor of a different room. Apparently a session of torture was the price the Centre collected these days to get you out of solitary. Making an exerting effort to stretch the limitations of his own physical pain, the pretender managed to sit up and put his knees to his chest. His head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to lie back down and slip into blissful unconsciousness. That was probably Lyle's plan: keep him exhausted until the Triumvirate came to take him. If that was the case, he had to recognize the madman had got it right this time.

The beating hadn't been brutal, he'd definitely had much worse; but after the events of the past four days, Jarod was just tired. It had all started when, shaking off the remains of the Phenobarbital from his muddled mind, he had found himself being dragged to a cell in some Centre sublevel. He had then spent two days without any kind of human contact, thinking and wondering and slowly going insane thanks to the lack of information. Finally yesterday, Lyle had showed up to share that bit of Centre news through a DSA of Parker's T-Board, giving him an ulcer in the process. Fair is fair, he'd figured: he did own Parker that much. But then this morning the games had begun.

A painful memory entered his brain when he thought of the tall burnet. She'd been there with Lyle, watching the session. _Maybe she knew, maybe she'd always known. _

Running his hands over his face and through his hair in repetitive motions, the pretender tried to scare away that thought with his growing headache. He really was going insane in his confinement…. Or was he?

_'I could go back…' _

Yes, he was. It had been his idea, not hers.

_'What? Have you lost your mind? Don't answer that.'_

He couldn't confidently say that he hadn't lost his mind when he first found about the T-board. It was the fact that it was bad news coupled with the fact that he'd found out about it by mere coincidence, while scouting the Triumvirate's mainframe for information on the Scrolls.

_'This is not a regular board, Parker. You've seen the letter. Your shipping order to renewal wing is all but signed.'_

Bekele had written the letter. It was addressed to a higher ranking official and with brief sentences relayed the newest developments in Centre politics. Jarod had printed a copy before his emergency visit, knowing Parker wasn't going to buy it just like that.

_'So, what?__ Trust me genius, it's not the first time and it won't be the last. I can handle Lyle on my own, so thanks for the thought, but no thanks.' _

In the letter, Bekele said that Lyle had contacted him, concerned over the performance of his sister in her role as a Centre huntress. Apparently, the evil twin had declared incompetence and more than hinted at treason when citing the reasons for his discomfort. Always the good employee, Lyle had 'volunteered' to try his own sister, as prove of loyalty to the Zulu board.

_'If you're thinking on killing your brother, that's not a good idea.'_

Parker had seriously been considering that option, he'd seen it in her raging eyes.

_'I beg your pardon?'_

_'He's obviously convinced Bekele that you are a more than likely to have committed treason. If you kill him whatever he told the triumvirate will be reiterated. They'll have Raines cut your head off.' _

_'Oh, I'm sure he'd enjoy that.'_

He would have, and he would have been given a pat in the back for his actions too. Five days ago, Parker had been a walking corpse as far as Triumvirate officials were concerned; details regarding methods had never been important to that organization so they were unlikely to ask, or care for that matter. But the total power of execution they'd invested Lyle with, was the most disturbing thing of all. It meant that whatever he'd told Bekele, the sociopath had put on quite the show. That knowledge was probably the one thing that had given Parker some pause, pushing her to stare out of the window of the trashy motel room where they'd spent the night. At least he'd been close to Delaware when his discovery came up.

_'So I'm awaiting decapitation. There's hardly any news in that flash, Jarod. Like I said, I can handle it.' _

_'You don't understand…' _

She did understand, he had known that even then. Her mind, just like his, had been working at the speed of sound to try and find her a way out of the almost literal grave. Unfortunately, having found out about Lyle's scheme so late, they didn't have time for much. That didn't mean Parker wanted to go down without a fight.

_'Little brother has been getting too far ahead of himself with his delusions of greatness. He just needs to be nudged down a little-'_

That had pulled him up from the corner of the bed where he was sitting. She was trying too hard to underplay what was hardly a usual situation. This time she was out, it was ordered and pretty much done. They needed to do something to avoid that. Fast.

_'Your "little brother" has been given permission to get you reeducated. I don't know how much you know about what goes on in renewal wing, but believe me, that's something you don't want to ever see. Ever.'_

The words had made traces of fear visible in her expression, and it was a funny thing, looking back on it, because he hadn't been trying to scare her. He had only stated the truth.

_'Listen, Lyle obviously went through a lot of trouble to keep this under wraps. He's probably been working on this for a long time and he's covered all his bases; he's not going to let you off the hook, unless he's ordered to do so.'_

_'And that's when you join the picture…Are you on something? I'm just wondering.' _

_'It's-'_

_'A stupid idea?You're supposed to be a genius, think something_ _up.'_

_'I'm trying'. _

_'Something else Jarod!' _She'd stopped yelling and pacing after that.

_'What about my disappearing act, weren't you a fan?'_

_'I am! But there's no time to put it together. If we do this, we get that time.'_

He'd never forget the unbelieving look she'd sent his way.

_'Sorry to burst your bubble rat, but Centre conditions have not improved over time: there's still no internet service for inmates in hell'. _

_'Limitations have never been a problem.'_

At that point, in a corner of his mind a reminder had been written to never again scold his younger brother for being so damn stubborn. When it came to the gene pool, Ethan had been the unlucky one. Parker had dropped her face into her left hand and laughed.

_'I could die…'_

Her tone of voice reflected the hopelessness of that option: faking your death was usually pointless with the Centre. Especially with Parker women. Besides there was simply not enough time.

_'If we do this, and that's a very big if, they would never believe it. What am I supposed to tell them, that I just asked you nicely?' _

_'I've been thinking about that. If I'm right about your brother, I have just the way to work that out.'_

_'Great. Have you worked a way out of there too? Because if you're so good at predicting Lyle's movements, then you know he's going to slice and dice you as soon as you're back.'_

_'That's where you're wrong. The Triumvirate wants me back in one piece.'_

He hadn't been trying to sound smug about it; it had just come up like that.

_'God, you are screwed up.' _

_'Relax Parker; some might think you care for this lab rat's fate'._

He'd been trying to lighten up but if looks could kill, the centre could have been spared the trouble right then

_'You know, this might seem all fun and exciting in that fried up brain of yours, but it's not. In fact, since this is Lyle's show, things are granted to get pretty ugly, pretty fast; what you need to do is back the hell off and let me handle it. The less damage done, the better'._

Parker, always the executive-decision maker.

_'If…'_

_'Jesus! Does the word no bear any meaning to you_?'

_'It'd be just a pretend, Parker'_.

_'What?' _

_'A pretend... Your pretend'_.

If great minds worked better under pressure then Parker's stubbornness was all the pressure he needed because at that moment, the details had just started to work themselves out. The blue prints hadn't been a problem, he had been in possession of some old ones but he'd updated just to make sure. He had counted with Angelo's presence on the inside, knowing his friend would provide mobility for his resources once he brought them in. The so called fake proves had been the easiest part, completed in about two hours; after a lifetime of practice he was quite handy at making things up. The equipment had been easy to score but the software necessary had taken a little time: the genius had spent a good six hours programming and testing until it had all worked properly. The only real problem had been setting a timeline since he had known only vaguely what to expect once he reached the Centre. He would have to wait for Triumvirate officials to come verify him, he'd been sure about that much: after the murder of Adama, the Centre and all things concerning the infamous hunt for his head had been heavily supervised. Well, obviously not that heavily.

_'What about Ethan?' _

To tell the truth, Ethan had been the one to give him the idea, albeit unwittingly. Right before venturing into the Triumvirate's mainframe (a regular occurrence after what he'd found in Bekele's computer concerning his mother), the pretender had received an email from his brother about the scrolls. Ethan wrote that he had located someone who apparently knew an awful lot about the ancient scriptures; unfortunately the man lived in Sarajevo and was, well, not a people's person. Ethan had urged him to meet with the man, but in the light of latter developments he'd decided Parker should go in his instead. That way they'd be turning Lyle's little plot into a golden opportunity to get everyone out.

_'What abut your mother? Aren't-' _

_'One week Parker. I go in, you go out, I go out. That's it'._

And that was indeed, pretty much it. Once he was in and Parker got cleared, she would leave for Europe to meet with the professor. He would wait until that was done, to get away, thus creating a wreck that would keep everybody busy; enough not to notice when the two employees that had not engaged in any contact with the escapee, failed to show up for work one morning. He hadn't been able to provide everything for his mentor's and the Broots' getaway but he was confident that Parker had managed polish that part of the plan with what he'd left set up. It was the actual leaving that still gnawed at his mind. The timing had to be right if they were all going to be off the hook: first Parker, then him, then Sydney, Broots and Debbie at once. One after the other: that was the way to go.

_'…The cabin, two nights from now'. _

_'This is suicide, yours and mine'_.

True, things could go astray. Being submitted to solitary confinement was the first curve ball that Lyle had thrown at him. Thankfully it had not messed with the six day schedule he, Parker and Ethan had agreed on. This morning's incident was another matter altogether.

Jarod stood up gingerly leaning against the wall behind his back for support. His legs hurt, and he had cramps from being in the same position for a long time. Reaching more than taking a step, he managed to get to the cot only a feet away from him and stretched out on it as best as he could . Staring at the ceiling he considered the implications of Lyle's latest: He was probably just trying to test his twin's loyalties. It hadn't worked, or maybe it had, because although she had looked as uncomfortable as allowed, Parker had not given anything away. Doubt wanted to keep that train of thought going, but the pretender stopped it short: If he was to going let honesty win over his pain, tiredness and last night's DSA (which he'd hoped he wouldn't get to watch), he really knew her better than that. In fact, Jarod hoped the object of his thoughts had already contacted Sydney this morning before coming to work, because now she was more than likely to go trigger happy and after Lyle. Not a good thing at the moment.

Catching a series of sounds coming form outside the room, the pretender smiled a little and waited for Angelo's appearance. Giving the empath that PDA with was the best idea he'd ever had. Now every camera in the Centre was at the mercy of the underestimated genius he knew Angelo to be. And even with such fait, Jarod had been quite surprised when he'd received the first visit last night, only moments after Lyle had left. So much for being cut off from the world.

"Hello, Angelo".

As his friend came into view, the pretender commended himself on bringing two devices for the two of them: the other man was obviously having a ball. There was not time for pleasantries however, and as soon as he gave him the device given the device, the empath was gone without a word; thankfully the PDA was small enough to be easily hidden in this new cell, which meant less risk of exposure for both Angelo and himself. Alone again, Jarod decided he'd work for a few minutes tonight, set the timer on his camera and then go to sleep. He was still exhausted and tomorrow was a big day; he needed to be lucid.

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AN2. So…Surprised? Disappointed? OOC? This is one of the major turning points of the fic, so please, let me know what you're thinking [just uh, no rotten veggies, please? thanks =) ]


	11. Chapter 9 Behold the joys of roadkill

Disclaimer and such: check Prelude.

A/N**: **I know it's been forever, but your reviews made me so happy, I commented on them anyway.** Lisa Brown**, you're right. **Michelle**, Ethan's role will be sort out later on. **Rem****-Cycle**, you got it perfectly right. Heck, you have the order down better than I do [lol]. **ranma8962**, fun…ah, well, angst can be fun…right? [insert stolen innocent look]. **Ann**, hope you're still with me. **mariel**, LOL, thanks! **Ginger6, **Re: bleeding parker. I know!Oh, and thanks for still being on this ride. =)** KatieQ, **glad you like it. ** imag1ne, **[bows head]**.** Thank you. No, really, thanks.** leochick, **ah, no flashbacks in this one; plenty of reminiscing though. Hope you like. ** jenny, **I really wish the update had come up sooner (read below). **moonbutton, **Out Of Character ;) .** dmg1013,** Thanks.

You all, I have to admit I was kind of nervous about the last chapter so you're reviews meant a lot…even more than usual.

Ah, warnings I have none, except to share with you that this is, in fact, the chapter that would not be written. Seriously, I now carry a grudge against this chapter. I advanced three pages on chapter twelve before I was able to properly work on this one. Therefore, if you feel like ranting about this story, this is the chapter to do so. I'm with you, in fact, I encourage you to do so.[Just ah, rant nicely because I can't eat marshmallows anymore, so you know, no flames. =) ]

Yeah, no more of my babbling. Here it is.

**Chapter nine **

** Behold the joys of roadkill.**

_"We're the dead ones" – George Orwell's 1984. _

As she drove dangerously fast on the highway, Parker tried to will away the ghostlike images that continued to haunt her. She wanted to pull over and throw up; she could actually feel the spasmodic contractions of her abdomen and the familiar burning of bile rising in her throat. But more than anything she wanted to kill Lyle. A slow painful dead like the one he undoubtedly bestowed upon his brides.

_Hey sis, where are you running to?_ Her brother's voice echoed in her ears making her want to rip something up. Sick son of a … Dammit!

Of the thousand memories running amok through her congested mind, Parker was unable to tell which she the hated the most: The recent ones that reminded her of her screwed up twin; the old ones that reminded her of her screwed up decisions, or the ones in the middle that reminded her of Jarod and their screwed up lives. Still, in the midst of the confusion there was one thing that stood out as an absolute truth: the shackles had been the strangest part.

Suddenly, another thought of Lyle attacked her and she helplessly shook her head, not wanting to how he'd asked her to follow him. He'd done a good job enticing her but she should have known; the moment she'd noticed the smug expression he was sporting, she should have known what was coming. Unfortunately her curiosity had won over her common sense, she'd gone with him and now, the events that had followed her erroneous choice played in the windshield before her like a badly edited film: pieces of Jarod's "questioning" mingled with echoes of the time she'd spent in Seaford with the pretender, right before this whole mess had started. Two days, five days ago

She knew why the lascivious freak had gone looking for her, explained the procedure and asked her to sit beside him as the action took place right in front of them: he was still testing her and probably he also enjoyed watching her cringe. Almost a week ago, Parker had called her twin from her car as she was making her way towards the cabin. She'd wisely appealed to her brother's sense of self preservation when she'd threatened to show up at the Centre dragging a gagged pretender behind, and pointing an accusatory finger in his direction for his non-existent teamwork skills. Under that promise the twit had readily complied, not because he believed her, but because he knew there was a chance, if only a slight one, and Lyle was a 'take your chances' kind of guy.

Following that conversation, nine hours had slipped her by, as she sat alone in the small shack, drinking instant coffee and talking to Ethan on the scrambled cell phone Jarod had left in a package for her. It was still dark when the pretender had made his appearance, only to coax her out of her clothes and into the bedroom telling her the rest could wait till the morning. Well, the next day had been as uneventful as that promise, filled with strategy oriented discussions and financial movements of doubtful legitimacy. Apparently, running away from your ever-expanding, murderous family did not come cheap these days.

Parker had done most of the tucking away and moving around, with the funds Jarod had previously retrieved from several Centre accounts. It wasn't taxing work, but it was time consuming, and it had kept her occupied while the pretender had remained outside "exercising". Even now, she found it funny how he was able to do that just by sitting on the porch and staring at the garden to the side of the house…

More echoes resounded in her subconscious. This time, one of her trying to mock her twin with the fact that Jarod would never answer any kind of questions he asked. Unfortunately the mental case had only agreed with her, prompting her to call him a nut. To that, he'd very calmly replied that if she had brought back the pretender to his cell, it hadn't been with the intention of starting a Go tournament within the Centre. With this thought in her mind, Parker jerked the steering wheel causing the car to swerve abruptly on the darkened road. The twit was right: she wasn't exactly the victim in this ordeal. In fact, there were no victims. On their second afternoon together at the cabin, she'd watched the pretender swallow the drug out of his on volition, before positioning himself back in the bed. She'd lain next to him, knowing that the moment her companion was sound asleep she would have to call Lyle to insure the progression of their plan, so that's exactly what she'd done. Once that phone call was done, she'd gone back to arrange the scene; fixing imaginary details for the most part, since she and Jarod had taken extra care in preparing a stage that would go with their story: she'd baited him for months, he'd finally believed her, they'd met, she'd betrayed him. Simple… but bizarre to say the least, particularly the part when she had had to cuff and shackle the sleeping man. They'd agreed that she'd do it while he slept because it made more sense in the order of things, but the truth was that it would have been impossible for either of them to look at the other if she'd had to do it while he was wide awake. It would have been too nerve wrecking. Lying in bed, shrouded in the incomplete silence of the summer evening as she waited for her brother to show up had already been too nerve wrecking.

And all for what? So far, their scheme had only served to provide her brother and extended playground to test all his new toys. Oh, and get her a new job opportunity. What a wonderful, wonderful life...Shit.

Maybe she could just keep driving, forget about the Centre and the pretender project and those god-forsaken scrolls. The idea was seeping into her brain as her own house came into her view, but before she could contemplate the thought any longer, Parker spotted Sydney sitting in his car, waiting for her. She'd called the psychiatrist and covertly begged him to come see her, alleging that they needed to talk and that whatever happened to Jarod, he couldn't blame her for doing her job. She had actually put quite the performance in order to get the doctor's agreement. And yet, now that he was here, a completely insensitive part of her didn't want to talk to him anymore, past plans be dammed. The more sensible part however, told her that it was a good thing the doctor had actually showed up, and that if he'd beat her to their destination them he'd probably left the office early, before Lyle had any more chances to play with his mind.

Abandoning her car in front of her home, Parker went to unlock the front door and was still in that process when she felt her old colleague approaching her from behind. Turning to greet him, she was met with a sight that she could have lived without. He knew. He knew and she wanted to laugh. Because of course he knew! Her twin had probably wired the old man's computer to have him watch the events unfold in real time. Her poor friend didn't even look mad anymore: just devastated and utterly disgusted.

Aware that she had played a stellar part in the doctor's discontent, a suddenly exhausted parker returned her attention to her now opened front door, and without one word she stepped into the darkness of her living room not bothering to turn any of the lights on. Right now, she only wanted to reach the kitchen: She was in dire need of some strong coffee.

Sydney followed Parker into the house and, after searching and finding a light switch, closed the front door again putting the lock on. Then he started towards the kitchen where he found the woman he had, until very recently, considered a friend, standing by the sink and holding a pot under the running water. She seemed stiff and slightly frantic, and her posture intrigued the psychiatrist in spite of himself. When he'd received the first call early this morning, a hesitant hope had formed in the Belgian's heart that maybe, there was more than met the eye behind Parker's actions of the past week. Then he'd been faced with Lyle's treatment of Jarod and that hope had expired, so he'd come looking for Parker with the sole purpose of getting an explanation, a reason why. Now, he wasn't sure which of his past assumed stances was right. The woman before him looked incredibly upset and…frightened, which didn't fit with anything else he'd heard or witnessed since Jarod's return to custody. Not that he'd been paying attention, at least not to the huntress's plight.

Not knowing that she was being analyzed, Parker stood by the kitchen counter across the room, doing the best she could to ignore her guest as she set up the coffee maker. She didn't want to face Sydney just yet. She was tired beyond her breaking point and her stomach was twisted in a painful knot that still did not respond to food too kindly; she wanted to rest, she wanted to sleep, she wanted things to go back to the way they were before the chase had turned into a mockery. Above all, she wanted the accursed coffee machine to cooperate and start working, because something, one thing had to come out right for her today.

The machine refused to function altogether, worsening its owner's agitation. In a careless move to check the apparatus, she knocked over the pot that was meant to hold her finished coffee sending the crystal recipient crashing against the kitchen floors.

"Great, just great. Absolutely perfect! Stupid thing."

Parker squatted to single-handedly gather the pieces of shattered glass, a position made awkward by the length of her skirt and the height of her shoes. She obsessed over the mess she'd created until her right hand started to bleed. The instant she noticed the cut she felt like she'd been hit in the face with the proverbial last straw. Everything was falling apart. She was falling apart.

To Sydney it all felt like a dream sequence worthy of Dali. One minute there was Parker strutting into her house, not bothering to invite him in; the next she was crumbling beside a puddle of broken glass, one hand bleeding into her suit, the other one shielding her face form the world. It took the older man a long moment to catch up with the situation, shocked as he was by his colleague's emotional display, but as the use of his senses returned, he finally abandoned the spot he'd been rooted to and moved forward to where his colleague was slumping against the kitchen counter. Carefully, he lowered himself to her eye level balancing on his heels and reached out to grasp her upper arms in a tentative gesture of comfort. There was a certain precaution hidden in his motions, but it proved unnecessary, since Parker was too busy holding her face and shaking miserably to pretend she didn't need a friendly shoulder.

So the psychiatrist sat down beside his beat down colleague and held her wordlessly, until her body-wracking sobs subsided and were replaced by a quiet sniffling. Then he led her out of the kitchen and into her room; she looked small and weak, nothing like the larger than life image Parker usually projected. Given her state, she was probably not going to provide him with the answers he was searching, but this didn't deter the doctor in the slightest. He left her sitting in her bed and went off to clean the kitchen and find something without caffeine or alcohol to offer his former boss. As soon a she was suitably calm, Sydney was determined to get her talking. Something was stranger than usual at the Centre, and time had come for him to find out what it was.

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A/N2: Eva and George put up with my incesant ranting and for that, they deserve something better than this utterly inexpensive comment. Unfortunately, you I'm broke.


	12. Chapter 10 Dude, where is my Thesaurus?

Disclaimer and such: check Prelude.

A/N: Oh, well, this one took a while, really sorry about that. I bring news though: chapter eleven is almost done and should be up on Monday at the very latest. And that one is long. 2800-words- and-still-running long. So you know, brace yourselves.

Thanks go to **ranma8962**, **imag1ne**, **mariel4000**, **Ginger6**, **leochick** and **jerseyno1. **You guys don't know how glad I am that you continue to enjoy this twisted little tale of mine –and that you take the time to tell me so. Seriously, I know I've said it a thousand times, but I still mean it. You rock! =)

Also, **cloudburst** and **Wayward Explorer**, thanks for joining the ride. Hope you're both still out there and still interested on this chapter.

And without further ado, we're back in business people!

**Chapter ten**

**Dude, where's my thesaurus?**

_"Evil is the radiation of the human consciousness in certain transitional positions". – Franz Kafka. _

"Do you need me to spell it out for you? VA- CA- TION. I want it, I've earned it, I've got it and I'm leaving. Anything else?"

"Well, it's just so soon…we'd just started to have fun." Unable to ignore the evident sadism attached to her brother's voice, Parker tried her best to appear only mildly displeased. It was a good thing, she figured, that she'd actually managed to get some sleep last night; otherwise she'd be plucking Lyle's eyes out with her fingernails by now. But lucky as the bastard was, this morning she was feeling slightly less confrontational. Slightly.

"You're a sociopath Lyle, and while that might be just fine with Raines, I don't think it jives too well with the Triumvirate; especially if your perturbed little mind is aiming to play with one of their toys. You should try to remember that, little brother."

"Why, sis, since when do you care?"

"Oh I don't. Or I wouldn't, if I hadn't put my head on the fire to get him back here at last." Looking straight into her brother's eyes, she proceeded to threaten him quietly. "You're not throwing that to the garbage, Lyle. I'm not letting you."

"Right. And this plane of yours is leaving when, again?" Lyle's smugness was so pure that Parker couldn't help the joy that shaped her lips into a small malicious smile. What her current company ignored was that she'd been extremely busy earlier this morning. Retrieving a business card from the vicinity of her office phone, she extended her arm over her desk and towards her twin, offering him the item.

"I called someone", she started as the card left her hand. "He'll be arriving here soon; tomorrow at the very latest." Knowing her brother was probably stuck on the fact that the name in the card came with a medical title, she continued. "He's coming here to supervise genius-boy's proper recovery for his trip to Africa next week. I figured it'd be a good idea, you know, lest he _accidentally_ bumped into something while you were not looking, and inflicted some sort of permanent damage on his precious little head." She paused for effect before following her speech. "You don't mind, do you? Bekele thought it was a great idea…"

Lyle didn't have to raise his eyes from the letters he was furiously committing to memory, for Parker to know he was probably developing a gastric ulcer of his own at the moment. If there was anything her thumb-less twin truly hated, it was being blindsided like this. Still, Parker felt the final blow had yet to be delivered, so she adopted a dismissive attitude and turned back to the files she'd been previously studying. "I wouldn't piss him off if I were you. That doctor? But then I'd also change that tie. It doesn't go with that suit".

When Lyle had turned to her in the middle of her last remark, Parker had been forced admit to herself how much she was enjoying this little game. Dangerous as it was, the murderous anger that her brother was positively radiating in her direction, was making her feel satisfied to and absurd degree. She didn't smile though, nor did she allow herself to show anything but indifference as she waited for Lyle to take a hint and leave her office.

"Very well, then." At last, a male voice penetrated her senses and although Parker didn't actually turn to the source, she could tell her brother was standing up and getting ready to leave. "Enjoy your trip", Lyle continued as he walked towards the door, his fake nonchalance forcing Parker to follow him with her eyes. "Just…Don't stay away too long. We'll be waiting for you".

Then the door closed, allowing Parker to forcefully drop the files she'd been holding in a show of exasperation. Lyle was a piece of work; she had to give him that. Somewhere between his last not so veiled threat and the blatant hungry look he'd given her before making an exit, the sociopath had managed to bring back his twin's urge to turn him into a premature organ donor, this time with a vengeance. If only her flight wasn't so damn soon….

She was still considering the outcomes of that fictional scenario when she felt her right thumb graze a rubbery surface on the inside of her palm. She'd actually forgotten about the band aid and the small cut it hid from view, but now that the sensation was reminding her of how the plastic cover had landed on her hand, the flow of logical thought through her neurological connections was slowly starting to return.

It was Sydney who had originally found something to cover her minor injury with. The older man had appeared in her bedroom holding a steaming mug of tea and a little box she'd immediately recognized as her first aid kit. He'd sat next to her, cleaned her hand and put an insane amount of focus into finding a suitable dressing for her minor wound, while he waited patiently for her to shed some light on her contradictory actions. Parker had been too tired and to shocked to even consider objecting his attentions; she had noticed, however, just how quiet everything was inside her house. It had been so quiet that she'd been able to hear the sounds coming from outside her window, which had struck her as funny since she never really paid attention to stuff like that. It was while she pondered her auditory discovery that she'd breached the subject that had brought her and her companion to that very moment. Not known for her love of preambles, Parker had dived right into the matter.

_I didn't turn him in. _

That had been it. Following those five words, she'd slowly unraveled the complicated plot surrounding Jarod's capture for her attentive audience. Throughout the tale Sydney had remained quiet and composed, finally making it clear for Parker why her mother had chosen to confide in the Belgian man: he was the perfect listener for perfectly nonsensical tales, always ready to follow plot twists and accept new facts. However, the characteristic Parker had been most grateful for was his ability to keep silent. The psychiatrist had obviously spotted all her half-truths as soon as they had left her mouth, yet he'd refused to ask prying questions. A good thing, since the bulk of the details that had been left out constituted her private business. But intimacies aside, Parker had told the truth at last and in that process, relayed the details of the escape plan she'd been ready to ditch not even an hour before her confession.

Looking back on it, she still couldn't decide if she would have actually damned it all to hell. Probably. She had been sleep deprived for a very long time. Thankfully, Sydney had been gracious enough to suggest a nap before they had any kind of in-depth discussion regarding Jarod's plan. She'd only achieved a few hours of sleep, but they'd allowed her to piece herself together before braving the load of technical questions the older man had thrown at her later on.

Once all of Sydney's qualms had been resolved and he'd agreed to follow instructions, the doctor had taken up upon himself to call Broots and update him on the new developments. Somehow Parker was sure that the psychiatrist was only being so accommodating because they both knew the computer techie was going to need him to make it out unscathed. It unsettled her a little, knowing she'd never understand her colleague's motives for remaining at the Centre, but for the time being she was just glad that he was playing along: the last thing she needed was more fuel for her constant migraines.

Going back to the file selection process Parker thought for the first time of what she was doing: these reports were supposed to be handed over along with Jarod when his Triumvirate transport came to take him. Technically, it didn't matter, since the pretender had no plans of taking that plane, but it was a matter of fact that Raines was going to review her selection before passing it on. She actually had to drop the whatever she chose by the chairman's office on her way out. That was to say…Right about now, Parker realized glancing at her watch. Although she was taking the company jet for her flight to Paris, she still needed to get there with enough time to ditch the tail her brother was no doubt pinning on her and take her connecting flight to Munich. And then, off to Sarajevo.

The prospect of spending a day of her life hopping in and out of planes was less than promising, and yet…

Something stirred inside Miss Parker. A wholesome feeling she easily identified with her inner sense. The sensation was so keen that despite the fact that this was the first time the talent had made an appearance in the past few weeks, she couldn't help the wave of confidence that invaded her for a moment: this stupid plan of theirs was going to work out.

She hastily finished her selection and walked to the door. Standing on the threshold of her office, she tried to feel something for the life she was turning away form but nothing concrete came up, which suddenly struck her as a miserable thing. However, knowing she didn't exactly have time to dwell on past occurrences, she resolutely turned around and started up the hallway. This place had taken everything from her; screwing them over and living to tell the tale was going to be, if anything, a source of personal reaffirmation.

On her way to Raines' office, Parker made a mental note to double check her newly acquired gun: just because her little circle of friends might be leaving with their heads on, didn't mean they were going to magically keep them that way. The Centre never went down without a fight.

…

There were men who took risks and there were men who took extreme risks. David Broots had never belonged to either category, so the events of the past few days were simply wreaking havoc on his nervous system. As he fumbled with his terminal trying his damnest to appear inconspicuous, the computer techie felt like he was sliding down a slanted street strapped to a surf board with his hands tied, no helmet and into oncoming traffic.

It had all started about five days ago, when Ms. Parker had arrived to the Centre in the company of her brother and a beaten down Jarod. His first reaction had been to deny the facts, even though Mr. Lyle had presented ample proof to convince him and Sydney of Miss Parker's latest bout of loyalty to her family. The psychiatrist had been a little more vulnerable to Lyle's seemingly un-refutable statements, due to his worry for Jarod's well being. But Broots knew that deep down, they had both clung to a thin thread of hope that maybe there was something about the whole ordeal the manipulating sociopath hadn't told them; something that could exonerate or at least excuse the strange behavior of their temperamental boss. Then, three days later, that thread had simply snapped when the techie had been required by Mr. Lyle to get a copy of the DSA that documented the latest Centre Tribunal. He hadn't needed convincing on anyone's part after that; he'd seen it all by himself. For what reason, he didn't know, but Miss Parker had indeed, committed every crime Lyle had accused her of. Finally, Broots had tried to assume (against his personal logic), that maybe he'd just been wrong about her, that she really was Raines's daughter - what with all the lying and double crossing. But had it all stopped at that point? No, of course not. That would have been too easy. Instead, he'd received a call from Sydney this morning, and the doctor had pretty much ordered him to come by Miss Parker's house because their old boss having problems with her ulcer again.

So naturally, with a mixture of curiosity and concern, Broots had waited for Debbie to be on her way to school before hopping in his car and going where he had been told. Along the way he'd kept wondering why was Sydney at Miss Parker's anyway? They weren't even speaking to each other. Unless, the doctor had done something and…it sounded silly now, but to be honest the thought had popped into his mind, almost causing him minor vehicular mishap. Of course, on arrival he had discovered that Sydney's urgency hadn't been the product of something that twisted. Indeed, it was worse. Much worse, because apparently nothing that had happened during the course of the past week had actually happened. It was all like a long drawn out dream that they were had all been pretending to live even without knowing… Just thinking about it, made Broots's stomach flip.

Doing what he could to keep away from twitching the balding techie tried to look focused on his computer's screen. Knowing how close Miss Parker had been from another trial only confirmed what he already knew: they couldn't stay where they were for much longer. It wasn't safe. Raines and Lyle were definitely up to something –each other's throats, most likely- and Broots had the feeling that everything surrounding those two was considered fair game, people included. Jarod's scheme, as farfetched it seemed, was really the best (and probably only) chance they had to actually get away. If things worked, they'd be out. All of them. They'd be able to go some other place, away from that zombie Raines, his cannibal son and all the craziness surrounding the Centre. Even if he had to endure one more week of anxiety like this, it would be worth it. If nothing else, for Debbie.

Grounded by thoughts of his daughter, the centre employee was only partly surprised when he heard a male voice practically beating his name. Mr. Lyle had asked him for a copy of the available records on some doctor from synthesis. Knowing that his search was probably related to Jarod in one way or the other, he had saved a copy to pass on to Sydney; therefore, he had no problems lifting the thin blue folder from his small desk and handing it up to his obviously impatient employer. The chairman's son took the file and starting scanning the pages on the spot. He had been expecting something or looking for something specific, Broots decided, because at a particular point his eyes widened in something akin to reaffirmation, he smiled and snapped the file shut before turning towards the elevators.

"Good job Mr. Broots", he threw over his shoulder. "Keep it up"

The cheery note on Mr. Lyle's voice and his triumphant expression gave Broots the chills. It didn't take a genius to understand that something in the order of the world had just taken a very, very wrong turn.

Sydney. He had to find Sydney, soon.

A/N2: **leochick**, I hope your computer is finally acting the way it should. Eva, my girl, blue is not your color so take care. George, the pressure is much appreciated.


	13. Chapter 11 Between the hours

Disclaimer and such: see prelude.

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize for the delay. First, RL got in the way of my posting schedule and when that was fixed, I realized the second part of the chapter sucked so evidently, I had to fix it. Don't know how much better it is, but I here it is at last.

As usual, to my readers: **ranma8962**Thanks for the confidence. **imag1ne**, that's my fave line too ;). **jerseyno1**, glad you enjoyed Broots** Crazyrussiangal**, nice to have you on board.

**mariel4000**, hope your world is exactly in the same place – whenever you get to read this, the following chapter is for you. =)

-For whoever wonders: I figured the Blue Cove-Paris trip would take 4 to 4.5 hours, since I don't know exactly what model of planes the centre has. Then, Paris-Munich takes 1.35 hours and Munich-Sarajevo is 2.25 (on a fancy Lufthansa flight -ticket is about US$600, one way). You can do that all in a day if you start early, have the means (and stamina). Also, considering airport security and other details, I think Miss P would charter private flights. So that's how my timetable works: Parker leaves Blue cove at 9.30 am. And yes, I'm a freak. Please do not be scared and read on.

::Right margin is out of service. Or so it seems. ::

**Chapter eleven **

**Between the hours**

_["How many lives do we live?" – 21 grams.]_

The ceiling of the cheap hotel room was a creamy shade of white; a very generic creamy shade of white that perfectly matched the paint on the walls. As her eyes met the green curtain that hung drawn to one side of the sealed window, Parker decided it was a good thing that the establishment didn't seem to have a large budget for interior decorations: bold colors, flowery wall paper or some other such nonsense would have only made the room feel smaller and she was already having trouble breathing. Turning in search of a more comfortable position, she was for some reason reminded of how she'd ended up here, in this too wide for one bed, pondering color choices.

It hadn't been a huge deed, getting rid of Lyle's sweepers back in Paris. She'd snuck up on them and sent them back to daddy with a good scare and the clear warning that while on vacation, she would remain armed and not in the mood to deal with her twin's crap. She'd then put them on the company jet, changed her hair color, dropped some clothes and boarded a plane bound for Munich. The remaining leg of her trip, Munich-Sarajevo, she had done with far less luggage than she'd brought from the states (thank the Lord for storage services). And now- now she was sinking on this uncooperative mattress, wishing fervently she could sleep a little, if only for the sake of her sanity. She wasn't holding out much hope for that particular miracle to happen, though. In fact, despite the considerable Jet-Lag she should be and was probably covertly experiencing, she hadn't been able to shut her eyes for anything longer than a literal blink. Instead of sleep laden she felt hyperactive, depressed and more than slightly hostile all at the same time, and the only thought her convoluted brain was able to conjugate clearly, was that the building across the street was the kind of run-down location that Jarod would like. An unfortunate thought by all accounts, since thinking of Jarod made her think of Lyle and thinking of Lyle made her want to throw up.

_'Please god, please_.'

She'd had a good scare when she'd switched to shots, soon after their encounters had started. She hadn't trusted the pill that much and due to the nature of her …relationship with the pretender, she'd rather be safe than sorry. However, her system had taken "a while to adjust" and she'd spent almost a week dodging calls and remembering all the prayers she'd ever been taught, hoping that fifty would be her lucky number. Fifty two had done the trick, and by fifty three she couldn't remember being so grateful about seeing blood in her entire life. Immediately afterwards she'd let the matter slip into her subconscious.

_'Thank you.'_

Parker had never told Jarod about that incident because she'd never deemed it important, so she didn't really know why that specific memory was revisiting her now. Maybe it was one of those funny connections the brain makes when going through the beginning stages of sleep deprivation. Maybe it was just that she sucked at waiting games. Padding across the room she stopped before the only window and leaned against the pane of glass. The building she'd spotted before stood right in front of her now and, as she idly wriggled her toes in the rose colored carpet that covered the floor, she decided it really wasn't in such bad condition. It could definitely use a good paint job but the structure was decent enough –which was more than she could say about most of the institutions known in her life, herself included. With the grimness of that conclusion, her thoughts started to drift back to the pretender; he would have like Sarajevo: it was a city full of contradictions, much like the two of them.

_'Just give me the damn gun, alright? You'll shoot your own foot.' _

With Jarod, things were always going in different directions. The night in San Jose when she'd told him he needed a haircut followed the glaring contest in Wichita; the evening at the empty house in Hartford where they'd barely made it to the stairs, came after the stuffed whale he'd sent to her office and that she still refused to ask about. Sometimes they wouldn't speak to each other when they met, and sometimes they couldn't stop talking to take off their clothes, but whatever the case, their senseless phone conversations in the middle of the night had never failed to take place. Oddly enough, it was those chopped and sometimes awkward bits of communication that she missed the most at this time.

_'Maybe I'll go back to __New York__ for a while, drive a cab. I'd make a good cabbie don't you think?' _

_'Sure, you'd chat your costumers to death. What are you watching anyway?'_

The mini bar honored its name with its composition: three small bottles of brand-less Vodka, a bag of peanuts and a glass that only tried to appear clean. Parker however was not in the mood to complain so she picked up one of the tiny bottles and twisted the cap to break the safety seal. When she'd arrived to the room, she'd made herself promise that she wouldn't gulp it all down, and she was working on it, she really was. But the gods seemed to be conspiring against her because her current surroundings weren't helping her resolve all that much. Sarajevo was a beautiful city, full of life and color in the summer, yet choked with an underlying sadness everywhere around. Scars of past fights were still visible (if sometimes just barely), underneath layers of fresh paint and re-edified walls. Some wounds were still not healed and some would remain open for years to come. It put her in a black mood, mainly because it presented a perfect portrait of her usual state of mind.

_'You have to stop watching cartoons'_

_'It's too early for newscasters… Hmmm, this cherry ice cream's great.' _

_'You are five.'_

_'Ah, wouldn't that make you a felon?'_

She had never been a chatty teenager, so spending uncountable minutes on the phone with Jarod was something she could definitely file as a new experience. They had developed some kind of addiction to the device, she was sure, to the extent that even their fights had taken place through a phone line. Well, most of their fights. The big ones. The ones that would go on for several days with a lot of sudden clicking in between. She liked to think of those as their swan song fights, always about the same three things: The Centre, him getting too close or her pulling away. The kicker was that they rarely ever yelled about any of those things when they met up to have sex. But then the sex was good. Shit, the sex was great.

_'What have your read about hobbits?' _

_'Not now, Jarod. I need coffee first.'_

As she arranged the only chair in the room next to the window, Parker thought that maybe the sex wasn't that good. For a long time, sex for her had been about control, personal enjoyment and maybe some minor bond. Then Tommy had made his appearance (with a little help from Jarod, no less), and she'd allowed herself to change her perception; this in turn had made her happy, if only for a little while. The truth was that Tommy had made her feel good, not just physically but mentally so. During the time she'd spent with him, Parker had been warmed by the notion that there was still some light inside of her, something an honest man like Tommy could appreciate without judgment. With him, she'd felt hopeful. With Jarod in the other hand, there was… she just… hurt. No, the sex was fantastic, she had to give him that much. But the peripherals (the night she'd sit with him as he cried himself to sleep in that motel room in Cleveland; the fact that she could slide into a bed next to the man whose life she'd been trained to destroy; the knowledge that when together, they were both only a bullet away from "freedom"), made her relationship with the hunted genius a complicated, and most of the time, painful affair.

Taking notice of the two empty Vodka bottles laying next to her vacated chair, the former Centre heiress wondered again why the hell had she stopped smoking, as she told herself repeatedly that she wouldn't grab the third and only bottle left.

_'A rabbi, a priest and a politician are sitting in a bar…'_

Standing before the bathroom mirror, Parker beheld herself: in the white neon light that radiated from the ceiling her skin seemed paler that it was, making the dark circles under her eyes stand out in stark contrast. Thankfully, it was nothing a large amount of corrector and some lip color couldn't diminish to make her look alive.

_I look like I just did a service for a bachelorette's party_

He was leaning against the doorway, a make-up smudge adorned the collar of his shirt.

_I don't want to know how you acquired that piece of information._

He gave her a tilted head smile and she knew he was going to be trouble.

_Actually….._

Blinking back into reality, she turned off the water, toweled her face dry and reached for her make-up bag. That had been a motel room in Sacramento. She was now in Sarajevo and she really had to start gearing up.

Before stepping out of the room, Parker regarded her image in the smooth surface of a small oval mirror. At least she was out of that hideous blond wig she'd worn for her flight the previous day. She was however, wearing dark blue jeans and a strappy, wine-colored top under a light, knee-length black coat, none of which constituted what she considered her personal style. At least she had the shoes. They weren't boots, although that would have been her choice to go with the outfit, but they were high above ground enough for her not to feel completely out of her element. Standing just outside the hotel entrance, Parker thought back on the conversation she'd had in the morning, Professor Hadzic would be waiting for her at six o'clock. It was now four fifteen and she was already waiting for her cab to arrive. Not that she was nervous -she wasn't. But she did know better than to show up at some random place in a foreign territory without scanning the area first. She would walk around for a while, find the building by her own means. That would give her an idea of the surrounding geography in case anything came up.

Considering her current train of thought, Parker chuckled bitterly: Lyle would be so proud if he knew. As she fidgeted quietly on the sidewalk where she was waiting for the cab to arrive, she caught a glimpse of her own skin peaking between the elegant cut of her shoe and the hem of her jean; the image only cemented her belief that she really should be wearing boots with this ensemble. Sometimes you needed a little more than height.

_You know, high heels are very damaging for toes, especially the ones with narrow toe boxes. They are a prominent cause of several foot deformities, like bunions, hammer toes, Morton's neuroma, and other conditions like bursitis in the proximal phalanges. _

Even though he did like playing know-it-all genius, Parker had to admit that Jarod wasn't really a pain in the ass…unless he felt strongly about something, and therein laid the problem. Jarod felt strongly about all the wrong things: the Centre, his past, the injustice of the world and her.

_'I love you.'_

"You too, lab-rat. You too"

It irked her that only now, as she cruised through an unfamiliar labyrinth of asphalt in the back of an old taxi cab, was she mumbling it to the potato-head key chain he'd given her for some reason. And it irked her, because all the cheap romantic movies she'd watched to cure her insomnia made the words seem like something of a joyful realization when to her, finally saying it out loud felt like dying a little. Of course, all the cheap romantic flicks' female characters were sweet, funny, smart girls who despite their always featured pseudo neurosis, were actually golden inside and wanted nothing but to find true love. Parker in the other hand, was a gun toting, self-proclaimed bitch who wanted nothing but to find a clue about her life; so maybe, she guessed, she was simply not the right type.

But it still irked her, mostly because she'd also heard the pain in Jarod's voice when he'd uttered the statement and she knew he'd been cheated on the joyous part as well. And the overgrown boy certainly deserved 'joyous' a thousand times more than any skinny ass idiot with the only problem of a bad hair-style choice. Looking at the small figurine that still dangled form her left hand, she wondered why it rattled her anymore: life wasn't fair and that was something she should be used to by now. Because you know, finding your lovers dead on your front porch should kinda drive that point home.

The cab came to a halt right in the middle of a lonely looking block and she knew it was the end of her ride. Deftly tossing the item she was holding back into her purse, Parker fished out the money for the fare and stepped out of the car into a summer afternoon that felt too much like a spring mid morning. A cool breeze whispered in her ears, sweeping her hair out of place and bringing a fake calm to her senses. After walking for a while through a web of generic, narrow streets, she finally came to stand before the building she had come searching for: a run down, five-story facility with an institutional gray façade. Wondering what was the secret charm of secluded falling apart properties that geniuses obviously found them so appealing, Parker let her annoyance fall back into its usual place and switched into Centre huntress mode, as she charged ahead looking for her next prey: fifth floor, third apartment on the left.

…

"Da?" Despite the bad lighting in the hallway, Parker was happy to find that the place didn't look like a set for some corny self-help movie. This had more of a surreal contemporary noir feel to it, which jived perfectly fine with the rest of her life. Not bothering to come into the viewing range of the magic eye that peered out from the door she'd just knocked on, the Centre employee answered the question with one of her own.

"Professor Hadzic?"

"Qui lui cherche?"

"I am. Can you go fetch him?"

"Miss Richmond?"

"Professor?"

The old, reddish-brown door opened only as far as the security chain allowed; enough for a set of aged eyes to spy on Parker, as she pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against throughout the verbal exchange. In a succession of sudden movements, the door closed and reopened again, this time as wide as its hinges permitted, leaving a an stunned Parker to stare at the back of a man that was definitely walking away in the wrong direction. Conscious of the weight of the gun she carried holstered to waistband of her jeans, the former Centre heiress quickly overcame her shock and followed her host inside, closing the door behind her.

The loft was far more spacious and luminous than the hallway advertised, and a far cry from what Parker expected to find. Perhaps the only feature that was congruent with her mental image was the excess of books: an impossible number of volumes on different subjects and in different languages occupied every available corner, and betrayed with their presence the studious nature of their owner. Educated in Oxford and La Sorbonne, Ragib Hadzic was an established historian, a brilliant anthropologist and, according to Ethan, the go to man when it came to the history behind antique texts. Looking around, Parker had the certainty that her little brother had been right.

"Please, sit down."

Accepting the invitation, Parker eased into the worn leather couch and switched her focus to the person seated across from her. Hadzic was a tall, well built man, with gray eyes and thinning, platinum hair. His general appearance gave away his sixty four years of life, yet there was something in his expression that could have made anyone think twice while guessing his age.

"I must confess I was very curious to meet you Miss Richmond", Hadzic started in a polite tone. "Especially after the events of the morning."

"Another visitor came earlier. The professor filled in, obviously noticing Parker's raised eyebrow. "A woman, also seeking information on the Vespusian scrolls".

"I hear they've become rather popular lately".

Hadzic tilted his head and gave her an unbelieving look that Parker ignored with practiced ease.

"Yes, I've heard that too. But I had not heard that they were in such high demand. My other visitor was willing to pay a high sum of money if could point her in the direction of the actual scriptures".

"Did you?"

"I have no knowledge of where the original scrolls are or have been for the past eleven centuries. I told you this over the phone".

Parker nodded. "So what happened to your visitor?"

"She left", the older man said pensively "She said she already knew everything she wanted to know on the subject". Then he mused out loud: "She truly wanted to find the scrolls".

The mood the professor seemed to be slipping into wasn't helping matters with Parker's racing mind. Even though she was playing disinterested, news of that female visitor had set off all alarms inside her head. It just didn't sound right. Although maybe…

"Maybe I actually know your mystery woman. There's a …book dealer, I've been following around. An older woman with -"

Hadzic's emphatic headshake was followed by his own spoken negative.

"No, I'm afraid not. She was young, and very beautiful; tall, blond, with a lovely Rumanian accent…Do you know _her_?"

"No". She'd known it was a long shot, but it had seemed more encouraging than the alternative: another woman looking for the same thing she was, at the same place, on the same date…it was too much of a coincidence, and history dictated those didn't heralded good news in her life.

"Well, then", the professor said at last. "Perhaps we should get started with the matter at hand. What would _you_ like to know about the Vespusians?

With the image of the blond woman still lingering behind her eyes, Parker didn't hesitate before she gave her answer. "Everything".

A/N2: 3149 words, plus notes. If you've come this far in one try, you've got both my utmost respect and my infinite gratitude.


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